The Evolution of Kyra James
by Skinnyblackgirl
Summary: The sequel to The Sweetest Taboo. For Kyra James, falling for Juan Carlos Ortiz was the easy part. She already knows that she can accept SAMCRO, but can she learn to love it like an old lady should?
1. Chapter 1

**_A/N: Yup. I'm back already with the next installment of the Kyra/Juice story. I totally fell in love with the characters and had to start writing them again. I have a general idea for where I want this to go, but am just going to write it and see where it goes. Of course, I have no rights to any of Kurt Sutter's characters, just Kyra James. _**

_**Kyra**_

Saturday mornings in Kyra's apartment meant cleaning. It was a habit that carried over from her childhood in Oakland. Every Saturday, her mother would wake up at the crack of dawn and fill their two bedroom apartment with the sounds of Anita Baker, Luther Vandross, Prince, Michael Jackson and Sade; and the smell of Clorox Bleach and Pine-Sol. Getting at the work early was important, as Saturday was the busiest day of the week for hair stylists and she couldn't leave the house until it was spotless. When Kyra was a little girl, Rhonda would let her sleep in or watch cartoons, giving the small task of cleaning her room. As Kyra got older, she took on more of the cleaning responsibilities. By the time she was a teenager, they'd moved into a two-story townhouse and it was Kyra's job to have it spotless from top to bottom by the time Rhonda got home from the salon. Kyra learned quickly that the earlier she started, the sooner she could enjoy her weekend. Now at 26, the practice was so ingrained in her routine that she thought nothing of the alarm that went off every Saturday at 9:30am. She'd simply roll out of bed, slip into stretch pants and a T-shirt, turn on some 90s R&B, and get to work.

Juice usually slept through the first part of her cleaning ritual. He'd been at her place for a month and a half, initially healing from a bullet wound in his lower back. In the last two weeks, he was more mobile. He wasn't back on his Harley or work at Teller-Morrow, but he could walk and drive pretty well. They hadn't officially discussed their living arrangements, but they'd slipped quietly into cohabitation. With one overnight bag at a time, Juice had gone from having a drawer in her bedroom to occupying 50% of her closet and bathroom counter spaces.

Falling into a comfortable routine had been challenging. Sharing space had revealed things about Juice that she hadn't seen in the first three months that they'd casually dated; namely how downright goofy he could be. Once he regained some mobility, Kyra would come home to a new catastrophe at least twice a week. There was the day that he'd mistakenly put Dawn dish liquid in the dishwasher as opposed to using the dish powder and had the entire kitchen floor covered in suds when she walked in the door. Then, there was the time toward the end of his recovery when cabin fever had set in and he'd decided to take apart various electronics throughout the apartment because he wanted to see how they worked. Her blender, hair dryer, and the Nintendo Wii had all fallen prey to his curiosity that day and though he'd put everything back together perfectly, coming home to mangled appliances had still rattled her nerves. He'd also rewired her satellite service in a way that somehow allowed her to have all of the premium channels and free wireless Internet. "Babe. You're already a convicted felon," she'd said once she calmed down. "Let's not draw unnecessary attention by stealing cable."

Kyra sang along to TLC as her yellow rubber glove-covered hands pushed a soapy sponge inside of her stove. As she worked, she heard a knock on her door. Tara had called to say that she'd be at the apartment to check on Juice in about twenty minutes and when Kyra glanced up at the clock, and forty minutes had gone by since then. "Mommy troubles?" Kyra asked when she opened the door to a frazzled-looking Tara. Since the night of Juice's shooting, Tara made weekly visits to monitor his progress, which allowed them to develop a friendly relationship. "I'm glad you decided to stick around," Tara said on her first visit. Kyra knew exactly what she'd meant. It would be good to have a female presence in SAMCRO who wasn't a Crow Eater, porn star, or overbearing matriarch.

"Yeah," the doctor gave a small sigh as she smiled. "Ever had breakfast with a ten month old and a two year old?"

Kyra imagined splotches of baby food soaring across her kitchen and loud wails vibrating against the walls. She shivered. "Say no more." She motioned toward the kitchen table. "Wanna have a seat? Have some coffee? Juice is still in the shower so you've got a minute to chill."

Tara collapsed into the chair and Kyra placed a cup and the coffee pot in front of her. She watched the tired woman pour coffee and wondered how Tara managed it all. Two kids. Her job as a surgeon. Taking care of Jax. Acting as the club's unofficial medic. And then Kyra wondered for the millionth time, how she'd fit into this picture once Juice was back to the swing of things in SAMCRO. Tara sipped her coffee,"So where's he at this week, as far as his mobility?"

Kyra flashed back to the previous evening. He'd been healthy enough to have sex for the last three weeks, but last night had been the first time since the shooting that he'd been aggressive in his movements. In the weeks following his injury, Juice was limited in what he could do below his waist, but he more than made up for it with his hands and tongue. He treated her body like one of the appliances in the apartment that fascinated him so; carefully testing and studying every inch and making mental notes about the reactions he received. He learned which spots liked pressure and which spots needed a softer touch. He knew which reflexes meant "go faster," "slow down," and "Oh my God, please don't move." It was like she was one of his video games for which he'd learned the cheat code, because he could press here, lick there and send her to heaven and back on command. Nonetheless, it'd felt _good _to have him back in top form in the bedroom. "He's good," she finally answered, a sly grin sliding across her lips.

"Well," Tara replied with a smirk, "if he isn't too sore this morning after putting that kind of...um..._strain..._on his back muscles, then he should be good to go."

_Thank God, _Kyra thought. Having him out of the house during the day meant a smaller likelihood of him wrecking the joint. "And how are you doing?" Tara asked. "With him and everything?"

"Right now? It's fine," Kyra said. And it was. With Juice in recovery, he hadn't been active with SAMCRO, which meant that Kyra didn't have to deal with the club too much. She still saw Gemma when she went to TM on business for Elliott, and the matriarch had stopped scowling at her, which was progress. She hadn't had much contact with the guys. They called the apartment occasionally and she noticed that they'd gone from tentatively asking to speak to Juice to greeting her with a friendlier "Hey Kyra. Your old man around?" The greeting always brought Kyra back to reality: that while she was perfectly comfortable as his girlfriend, she still had to get into the business of being his old lady. "We'll see how the rest goes once he's back into the swing of things."

_**Juice **_

"Well look who finally got his walking papers," Bobby greeted Juice as he bounced into the clubhouse. It wasn't his first time back since the shooting, but it was his first day back on his bike and back to work full-time in the garage. He'd never been a morning person, but he'd beat Kyra's 7:30am alarm by an hour that morning. He wanted to make sure she had time to fulfill his special pre-work request. One hour. Three rounds. Each with her pinned to the mattress while he stroked her. Fast. Slow. Gentle. Rough. By the time they finished, he'd brought her to the edge a record five times. Left her sweaty and breathless with the hair that she'd taken great pains to straighten the night before, a frizzy mess all over her head. When his woman, who was usually anal to the point of bitchiness about her hair, whipped the mess into a bun with a giddy smile on her face, Juice knew that he'd done his job.

The ride to work had been equally satisfying. The wind at his face, the engine roaring in his ears, the road disappearing beneath him. All of it felt like fresh oxygen, breathing a life into his body that he'd missed for the last month and a half. These very simple things: properly fucking his girlfriend and riding his bike, reminded him that he was a man and not the helpless child he'd been in Kyra's apartment during his recovery. It reminded him too much of Stockton, being so restricted, and he found that if he didn't keep his mind busy, he'd spend hours reliving those nightmarish fourteen months. His efforts to distract himself had earned him some serious death glares from Kyra and though she never said it, he knew what she was thinking: "What are you? Retarded?" It was a look he knew well from seeing it in the eyes of his brothers. The look hadn't been there this morning though, and that was all that mattered.

"Hey guys," Juice said cheerfully, accepting hugs and handshakes from Bobby, Koz, Chibs, and Tig.

Koz landed a playful slap on the back of his head. "Took ya long enough to get back, shithead. What happened? _Beyonce_ wouldn't let you out of the house?"

"I don't blame ya, kid," Chibs chimed in. "I'd take my time too if I had a li'l lovely like that nursing me back to health."

Tig snorted. "Yeah, I bet she gave you some _serious_ physical therapy. Sure you can handle all that?"

Juice chuckled, his mind going back to his morning at Kyra's. "Hey, hey, hey! I know she's incredibly hot, but that's my old lady you're talkin' about. Save all your dirty thoughts for the sweetbutts." He paused. "And yes. I handle that _very _well."

"Hey!" Clay's voice boomed over their laughter as he entered the clubhouse. "If you girls are done gossiping, I've got cars in the bays that need to be fixed." He stopped to hug Juice. "Welcome back, kid. Clock in and get to work, but come see me later. I've got some shit I need you to take care of."

Juice worked in the bays, taking new joy in changing oil, rotating tires, and switching out spark plugs in engines. He tore through all of his work, only stopping to occasionally to shoot the shit with hang arounds who stopped to welcome him back to work. He was still in a deep zone when Gemma walked up to him in the garage. "Welcome back," she said, pulling him in for a hug.

Here it was. The grilling that he tried to avoid when he first pursued Kyra. He knew that she'd questioned Kyra at the clubhouse about their relationship the night he was shot. Being away for a month and a half had prolonged the interrogation. Now, he was cornered. "Hey Gem," he said with an easy smile. He wanted to keep the exchange as quick and light as possible.

"Talk to you for a minute?"

He laughed. As if he actually had a choice. "Sure, wassup?"

She folded her arms and leaned against the '99 Ford Taurus that Juice was working on. "So you and Neeta's niece... you guys the real deal?"

He looked down, kicking a stray lug nut with the front of his boot. _She's not gonna take you seriously if you act like a pussy. _He forced his eyes to meet hers as he nodded his head. "Yup. Looks that way."

Gemma shook her head. "I don't see it. The suit. The nine to five. She seems a little _uptight_ for the shit that goes on around here, don't you think?"

Juice sighed. "She's not some stuck up yuppie, Gem. She grew up in a tough neighborhood. Knows her way around a gun. She can handle a lot more than you think." He wanted to say more, but hesitated with his thoughts. _Fuck it. _"I know you're just doing what you've gotta do as Clay's old lady, but she's what I want. And I'm not changing my mind about that."

He could read the surprise on Gemma's face. "Okay," she finally said. "Well, we're doing a club dinner tomorrow night at eight. Bring her. She cook?"

_That was easy. _"Yeah."

She nodded. "Good. Tell her to be at the house at seven with a dish. She wants to be an old lady? She's gotta help in the kitchen."

"I'll let her know," Juice said before Gemma walked away. As he returned to the Ford, he realized that dinner with the club was the tip of the iceberg for Kyra. Part of him was thankful that she had time to get adjusted during a relatively quiet time for SAMCRO. The other part wondered how long it'd be before she'd get an emergency crash course.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Kyra _**

It was 6:59pm when Kyra pulled up to the Morrow house. The large ranch-style home tucked in one of the prettier corners of Charming loomed over her as she approached the door. Somehow, she hadn't expected it to wreak so much of upper middle class. Sure she'd seen Gemma's expensive sports car and taken note of the Rolex that was a staple on Clay's wrist, but she figured their home would look as humble and blue collar as the Teller-Morrow garage lot. _Not so much_, she thought as balanced a casserole dish in her left hand and rang the doorbell.

With the exception of Gemma's Cadillac CTS Coupe that sat in the garage, the driveway was empty. Kyra had a feeling that she was the only one who'd received the 7:00pm arrival time. This would be a one-on-one meeting with the Queen; a "to be continued" on the interrogation she'd endured the night of Juice's shooting. _This is some straight up sorority pledgee bullshit_, she realized. She was the new girl, and thus she would be hazed. Proving herself was the story of her life. She'd had to prove that she was tough enough growing up in the hood, prove that she was smart enough when she transferred to private school, prove that she was strong enough when her mother was diagnosed with cancer and she was left to manage her hair salon, prove that she was professional enough to hold her own at Oswald Industries, and now prove that she could handle SAMCRO.

Gemma answered the door wearing an open oversized flannel shirt with a white camisole underneath. Between Gemma and Tara, Kyra learned that the SAMCRO Queen and Princess loved their flannels and clunky boots. She held in the grimace that wanted to form on her face. While the two women made the look work for them, Kyra did not plan to adopt the old lady uniform. Gemma's hawk eyes registered Kyra's get up. She'd gone casual with a pair of leggings, a hip-length white T-shirt and a boyfriend blazer to shield against the crisp November evening chill. Her hair, which she still hadn't straightened after her three-round romp with Juice the previous morning, was pulled back into a bushy ponytail. "I see you share your aunt's knack for punctuality," Gemma swung the door open and stepped aside. "Come in."

Kyra, back erect and eyes steady, followed Gemma into the house. "I made broccoli casserole for fifteen to twenty people. I hope that's enough." Neeta, who was at her weekly Bible study, had instructed her over the phone to cook for twenty.

"That's fine. You can set it on the counter right there. Most of the sides are done. Once you get situated, you can help me bread and fry the pork chops."

"No problem." Kyra looked around the house. The decorating and motif were as surprising as the size of the house. Who would've guessed that Gemma the Shrew had Martha Stewart tendencies? She quickly shed her purse and blazer at the long dining room table and joined Gemma in the kitchen. Flour littered the counter the faint sound of Aerosmith hummed under the simmer of the pork chops frying on the stove. She was tempted to ask when Tara and Lyla would arrive, but decided against it. The question would make her appear nervous. _Cool reserve is the goal, Kyra. _

The women worked quietly at first, only breaking the silence to request an item be passed across the counter. Carefully, Kyra laid each pork chop in corn meal, coating both sides before placing it in the skillet. The action soothed her and she was almost so distracted by the calm that she forgot she was in the lioness's den until Gemma's voice cut through the quiet. "Haven't seen Juice around the clubhouse much. I'm guessing he lives with you now."

_Keep your answers quick and light. _"Well if he doesn't live there, his stuff certainly does. I can't walk out into my bedroom without tripping over a boot."

Gemma snorted. "Believe me, I know the feeling. After seventeen years, I still can't get Clay to put his damn underwear in the hamper instead of leaving it on the bathroom floor."

Kyra responded with a nod and a smile, bracing herself for Gemma's next blow.

"So Neeta tells me you don't have a lot of family."

Kyra shook her head. "Nope. I lost my mother back in '06. My grandparents passed when I was ten or so."

"What about your dad?"

"Never met him. Last I heard, he was in the Midwest. Cleveland or Detroit, I think."

There was a long silence before Gemma spoke again. "You know, something's been bothering me about this thing with you and Juice."

_Annnd here it comes. _"What's that?" Kyra replied, her tone even and cool.

Gemma kept her eyes down, pretending to concentrate on seasoning a pork chop. "Well, you're a smart girl. Got a college degree. Nice office job. I'd just expect a girl like you to be somewhere living the Cosby fantasy. You know, with a black guy in a suit with two point five kids and the house with a picket fence," Gemma, stretched her arms, placing her palms on the counter. "Or are you one of those girls with daddy issues who gets off on bad boy dick? You wouldn't be the first of those to come around here."

Kyra almost laughed out loud. This woman was unbelievable. She looked up, eyes focused on Gemma's. "You gonna ask me a serious question here or keep playing amateur psychologist?"

Gemma crossed the kitchen to remove a batch of finished pork chops from a pan. "I'm just trying to figure out what you expect out of this relationship. I hope you don't think you can save little Juan Carlos from himself," she said with a sigh.

"What I do expect?" Kyra let out a snort of her own. "Consistent dick, grocery money, and the occasional foot rub" she countered. "As far as trying to _save_ Juice, I'm not in the business of rescuing souls. The man is who he is. And other than his rather annoying habit of leaving hair in my sink when he shaves, I have no desire to change him."

Gemma walked back toward the counter. "What happens when the feds come snooping around and want to know about your man's extra-curricular activities? Start offering you a sweet witness protection deal to rat on him?"

"Where I grew up, we learned early on not to talk to cops. I don't snitch. Especially not on a man I share a bed with."

"Fine," Gemma said, closing in on Kyra's personal space. "You and Juice seem to think you know what you're getting into, so I won't stop you." Her eyes narrowed. "But let me be clear: I get an _inkling_ of an idea that you're jeopardizing this club in _any way _and you're gonna have serious problems on your hands."

Kyra's hands balled up into tight fists. She'd been ready for Gemma's verbal daggers, but the invasion of her personal space put her on edge. Back in Oakland such an intrusion would warrant at the very least a hard push, accompanied by a command to "get the fuck out of my face." Here, she had to show restraint. As proud as she was, she wasn't stupid enough to attack Gemma in her home.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Gemma provoked. "You thinkin' about _beating the brakes off of me_?"

Hearing her threat fired back at her penetrated Kyra's steely exterior. Heat rushed her face, radiating an angry glow beneath her dark caramel skin. She swallowed the crack that crept up her throat. "Excuse me?"

Gemma held her glare. "I didn't stutter. _Do not interfere with Juice and this club. _Are we clear?"

Kyra wanted to send the older woman flying across the counter with a back-handed slap. She wanted to tell her that she wasn't especially concerned with the club. That even though she'd accepted SAMCRO as part of Juice's life and thus, part of hers, she was in no rush to embrace a band of crazy ass white outlaw bikers. That the only thing she wanted from SAMCRO was respect as the lady in Juice's life. The rant sat on the tip of her tongue, but logic won out when she realized that Gemma's threat was a tentative nod of approval. If Kyra stayed out of SAMCRO business, the Queen would stay out of hers. "Crystal."

Gemma nodded, moving back toward the stove. "Good." The menacing tone in her voice vanished. "I saw you deal with that Crow Eater in the clubhouse that day. You handle everything else like that and you just might make it around here."

Kyra's mind flashed back to her run-in with a sweetbutt outside of Juice's room the week after his shooting: _"I'm gonna make this real easy for you. You can turn around and go back to whatever it was you were doing up front or you can stand here, keep talkin' to me crazy, and I can beat the brakes off you in front of this whole damn clubhouse." _So Gemma saw the exchange? Good. The Queen needed to know that she wasn't a pushover. "About that," Kyra started, "Is that the last I'm going to hear from one of those chicks or do I need to watch my back?"

"They're gonna do whatever your man lets them do. You mark your territory so the whores know not to do it in your face. Gotta let them know where they stand: _beneath _you." Gemma placed a pan of freshly fried pork chops on the counter. "You're new around here, so the more ballsy ones may still mouth off. That happens? Handle it."

Kyra turned her attention to her casserole dishes, placing them in the stove so that they'd be warm when the rest of the dinner guests arrived. The "wifey vs. hoes" ideology was all too familiar to her. Running her mother's beauty shop, she witnessed too many side chicks who forgot their place be confronted by angry wives, baby mothers, and live in girlfriends. The scene had played out in her life, as well. She'd never forget looking into the enraged face of her first love's wife the day after her mother's funeral. Right before she landed a right hook on the woman's left eye.

Now she was on the other side of the line and found herself relating to Gemma's advice more than she wanted to admit. Juice stepping out with a Crow Eater, if it happened, would be nothing short of karma kicking her ass. She'd thought about the possibility and decided that it couldn't be a deal breaker. She'd give him hell and make him _think_ it was, but eventually forgive and forget. But the first chick to flaunt an affair with Juice in her face would get laid out, if only to serve as an example to the rest.

Tara and Lyla arrived between seven-thirty and seven-forty-five, confirming Kyra's suspicion that the seven o' clock arrival time was just for her. Their presence was a welcome distraction for Kyra. She'd had her fill of Queen Gemma and wanted to actually enjoy the dinner that she'd helped prepare. Tara was her usual flustered self, blowing into the house and racing up to the second floor to check on her boys before joining the rest of the women in the kitchen. Lyla floated in, with her easy smile and angelic face, followed by three of the most somber children Kyra had ever seen. She knew that two out of the three were Opie's but she didn't know which two. Being holed up with Juice for a month and a half meant that she hadn't had a chance to get to know Lyla as she knew Tara. Her demeanor was sweet and unassuming, which made Kyra wonder just what led the innocent-faced woman into pornography and what on earth those kids had witnessed in their short lives that made them walk around looking like Children of the Corn.

"Since we've got a few minutes before the guys arrive, we can go over some of this wedding stuff," Lyla said, taking a seat at the table while Kyra arranged the plates and napkins. Gemma and Tara joined Lyla at the table and Kyra noticed that Tara took a seat at the end opposite the other women. When she'd laid the final place setting, Kyra moved back toward the kitchen to busy herself with the food while the women discussed their plans but was interrupted by Tara.

"Hey Kyra, what do you know about wedding planning?" she asked.

_Not a damn thing_, Kyra wanted to answer. But as she read the look on her new friend's face, she saw a small plea behind her eyes. This was about more than helping Kyra fit in with the old ladies. "Not much, but if I'm needed I can help."

There was a moment of silence as the women exchanged brief glances before Lyla spoke. "You can help Tara with the rehearsal dinner, Kyra. Gemma and I are working on the wedding and my friends from work are handling the bachelorette party."

Kyra bit back a comment about porn stars and bachelorette parties as she sat down next to Tara. "Okay sure." She read relief on the doctor's face and gave her a subtle nod. As the women chatted about beach locations, dress fittings, and dinner menus, Kyra wondered, once again, just what she'd walked into.


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: Hey everybody. I'm still kinda new to the fanfic community so communicating with my readers via author's notes is new to me. Thanks so much for all of the great reviews thus far. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I knew going into it that I wanted to spend a little time in both of their pasts to see how their personalities fit together in the present, so expect more little tidbits about their backgrounds. Also, I'm completely in love with the Kyra character myself, so the fact that you all love her is just awesome. Keep up the great feedback! - SBG_**

**_Juice_**

"Jesus Christ, kid, you are whipped," Chibs quipped as Juice pulled up to the liquor store. They were already running a few minutes late for Gemma's dinner, but he'd insisted on stopping around the corner from the house to pick up a bottle of Merlot for Kyra. He had no idea what Gemma had subjected her to for the hour prior to dinner, but he figured she'd be in dire need of wine by the time he showed up.

"Dude. Wine makes her happy. Happy women feed and fuck you. I like food and fucking. Therefore, I buy wine."

Chibs chuckled and revved up his bike. "Aye. Guess you're not as dumb as ya look."

Juice settled into the seat of his Dyna. "Blow me."

To his surprise, Kyra answered the door when he and Chibs arrived at Gemma's. He could tell she'd had her on game face by the way her eyes sparkled to life when she saw him. She had an unusual amount of control over her emotions, especially for a woman, but Juice had learned that her eyes always gave away her initial reactions. Even if they only lasted for a split second.

Chibs walked in first. "Hey darlin. You ladies musta been workin' hard. Smells like heaven in here."

Kyra offered a polite smile, making room for the older man to walk by. "Hi Chibs." When Juice tried to follow suit, she stopped him in his tracks, placing a hand on her hip and turning her smile into a playful grin. Juice's eyes moved down to the black leggings that hugged her curves and remembered Koz's earlier teasing. _She is kinda shaped like Beyonce. _Her frame brought back memories of watching girls with Baby Phat cats stitched on their asses strut down Queens Boulevard when he was a teenager.

"You owe me," she whispered. "Big time."

_I can think of more than a few ways to pay you back_, he thought as he bit back a devilish smirk. He couldn't be within one hundred feet of her without wanting to take her clothes off. Had they been anywhere other than Gemma and Clay's house, he would have considered sneaking her away for a quickie. He held up the bottle of Merlot. "This a good start?"

Kyra stepped in and planted a feather light kiss on his lips. "Ah babe. Ya know me so well," she said, pulling the bottle from his hands. "Now go sit down for dinner so I can fix your plate like a good little ol' lady."

He didn't miss the sarcasm that dripped from her last statement as she shooed him toward the table where the rest of the club had already started eating. Chibs was right. The entire house smelled delicious. Juice caught whiffs of buttered bread and Gemma's infamous fried pork chops. His nose picked up on another familiar scent and figured it was whatever casserole concoction Kyra cooked at the apartment the previous evening. Shortly after he sat down, she brought him his plate; pork chops, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn on a cob and her broccoli casserole, accompanied by a frosty bottle of Budweiser.

As conversations buzzed around the table, Juice thought back to his first SAMCRO dinner five years ago. The Prospect cut that he proudly sported into the house that night had been three years in the making, and though he was at the bottom of the totem pole, he was just happy to have a foot in the door.

Gemma made baked chicken that night and he recalled wiping his hands on his jeans every five minutes to keep his silverware from sliding through his clammy fingers and landing in Bobby's plate across from him. Though he expressed his interest in prospecting to Jax, they assigned Tig to be his sponsor and he knew it was because they doubted his toughness. Based on his work around the garage with the cars and their computer system, they knew he was more machine savvy than anyone in SAMCRO. They just needed to know that he wasn't a pussy. And what better way to find out than to place him under the watchful eye of their psychopathic enforcer. Tig rarely said anything to him that wasn't a command followed by an insult, so the dinner, where there would be actual conversation, was a welcome relief for Juice.

He observed more than he spoke. He'd worked alongside the guys in the garage for three years, and had a feel for their personalities, but seeing the bikers in a domestic, homey setting was new for him. They laughed a lot, mostly at him, which didn't bother him because it came with the territory of prospecting. Gemma buzzed around the house in Queen Bee fashion, making it obvious that she pretended to let Clay run things at TM, but in their house there was no pretense. She was in charge. Jax's wife Wendy lacked that queenly air, despite being married to the club's VP. The Crow tattoo on the inside of her forearm was the only thing that distinguished her from the small handful of Crow Eaters who were helping in the kitchen. Then again, Jax probably couldn't tell the difference either with the way he ran through sweetbutts whenever Wendy turned her back.

What resonated with Juice that first night was how _normal_ SAMCRO was behind closed doors. He'd never had a big family; growing up as an only child in Queens and then moving to Pasadena with his aunt and uncle who didn't have any children of their own. The warmth that radiated through the Morrow house gave credence to Jax's response upon hearing that Juice wanted to prospect: "Once you're patched, the members are your family. This charter's your home." As he sipped his beer and took it all in, he knew he'd survive prospecting under Tig. The power, respect, and women had led him to SAMCRO, but the promise of loyalty and family was what kept him sane during his year as a prospect.

As he snapped back into the present, the scene was a bit surreal to him. He'd been to a million club dinners since that evening five years ago, but this was the first time he didn't feel like everyone's goofy kid brother. Part of it was from his time in Stockton. Spending fourteen months watching not only your back, but the backs of five other people, twenty four hours a day had a way of hardening a man. But he knew that Kyra played a role as well. She wasn't some patch-chasing, eager-to-please Crow Eater fetching his beers with hopes of getting status in SAMCRO, but a woman who had plenty going on in her own life, preparing his food because she deemed him worthy of the privilege. He gave her thigh an appreciative squeeze under the table and she tossed him a wink over the rim of her wine glass. He'd screwed up a lot of shit in his lifetime, but it looked like he'd picked himself a winner.

"So let me get this straight: Opie's wife died and two months later, he meets Lyla on set at a porn studio and moves her and Piper into his house with his kids? And this is the wedding I've been asked to help plan?"

Juice followed Kyra into the apartment and set his keys down on the counter. They'd just left Gemma's and she was getting caught up on the who's and what's of SAMCRO. "Well it sounds kinda shitty when you put it that way, but yeah."

She shook her head as she plopped down on the couch. "Jesus Christ," she whispered. "You mind if I ask how Opie's wife died?"

_Dammit._ Dinner had gone well, with the club showing Kyra the respect and courtesy granted to all old ladies. He could tell she was forming a fast friendship with Tara and even Gemma's tone was less harsh by the end of the night. Now after a smooth, drama-free evening, she had to ask a difficult question. Part of their deal at the beginning of the relationship was that she wouldn't ask a whole lot of questions about SAMCRO, but when she did ask, she expected the absolute truth, minus any sugar-coating. He sighed. "Mistaken identity," he finally answered, avoiding her eyes. "She was driving Opie's truck and caught some bullets that were meant for him."

Her eyebrows shot up. "God. No wonder those poor kids look so out of it. That's some traumatizing shit."

_Doesn't help that Ope had just come home from a five year bid when Donna died_, Juice thought.

"Remind me to never, under any circumstances, drive your car."

He thought about the vintage 1975 Monte Carlo he kept parked on the Teller-Morrow lot. He'd been working on restoring it before getting locked up and hadn't picked up on the project since coming home. It was a piece of shit he used to run low profile club errands. "Hell_, I _barely drive that thing." Still, he made a mental note to never park the car at the apartment. Better safe than sorry. "So how'd it go with Gemma?" They needed a change of subject.

Kyra rolled her eyes. "_That_ bitch..." she started. "She hazed me, which was nothing I couldn't handle. I'm basically on 'probation.' I stay out of club business, she'll stay out of our business. At least that's what she said. She got in my face for like five seconds though and I promise under different circumstances, I woulda slapped the shit out of her. But dinner was served and nobody was slapped or cussed out, so I guess it went well."

Juice sat next to her on the couch, placing her feet in his lap. "That's my girl," he said, kneading the arch on her right foot with his thumbs.

"Wait, I forgot. Opie told me to ask you something..."

"What's that?"

"Who's Deon?"

The name sent an immediate chill through his body. Deon would forever be a reminder of the most humiliating moment of his life: being used as bait for a gay snitch when he was locked up in county. How the hell did he explain that shit? _Well babe, see the club needed protection in jail so I had to pretend I was gonna take one up the ass from a huge black guy but I promise I'm not gay and would have kicked his ass before I let that shit happen. _He was going to fucking kill Ope. "Remember what you said about me not _having_ to tell you _everything_?"

Her dark brown eyes narrowed as she replied. "Yeeeeah..."

"Look, I promise that Deon isn't an ex-girlfriend, or somebody I fucked, or somebody I killed, or someone you'll _ever _have to worry about. Just do me a favor and never ever bring that up again."

* * *

It was his first time back on the road for an out of state run since the shooting and this particular run was a big deal. With all the heat coming down from the new city government and county sheriffs, the club had to be extra careful with their gun runs. Blood drives, alternative routes, and a reduced number of bikes on the roads, paying attention to go through counties with SOA friendly law-enforcement. Clay had tasked Juice with researching routes and setting up relationships through other charters to get it done and it was his first big responsibility since telling Clay that he was ready to step up in the club. Miles and Phil were patched, so he was no longer the club's junior member. He was ready to prove himself.

Jax, Tig, Opie, Hap and Juice would make the trip. Clay reasoned that Charming sheriffs wouldn't expect the club to make any major moves without the president, but Juice knew that Clay was also saving himself from taking the long ride to Tacoma. Fourteen months in Stockton without access to cortisone shots had done a number on his arthritic hands and while physically, he was still able to ride, lately he delegated more tasks to Jax, especially when they required out of state runs.

Teller-Morrow was busy with usual pre-run activity. Club members, Crow Eaters, sweetbutts, and male hangarounds all littered the parking lot, ready to give the guys a proper send off. Gemma and Lyla were perched on a picnic bench near the clubhouse entrance. He figured that like Kyra, Tara was at work. Kyra had been strange in the days leading up to the run. Fidgety and super nice. Syrupy sweet, even. She was always kind in gesture and action, but quick-witted with her words. It felt odd not hearing her clever comebacks for a few days. The previous evening, she'd cooked him a meal worthy of a king: steak and lobster tails with garlic mashed potates and steamed broccoli, right before she led him to the bedroom and tried fuck the living daylights out of him. On top of that, she woke him up that morning with a blow job that made him think she'd been watching his CaraCara DVD collection and taking notes. Not that he would ever complain about gourmet meals, enthusiastic fucking, or waking up to great head, but something about all of it felt forced.

He was shocked when she whipped her Mustang into the lot at 12:15. She made no mention of stopping by the garage before she left for work. She got out of the car and strutted across the concrete with her usual confident swagger, looking like she meant business in her navy blue pinstriped pantsuit and signature black pumps. There were no lines or obvious signs of worry on her face as she approached him on his Dyna, but her eyes gave it away. Something was wrong. "Hey," Juice said, planting his usual peck on her cheek. "Everything okay? I thought you didn't take lunch until one."

"I know," she said, her eyes dancing between his and the ground in front of her. "I decided to take an early lunch so I could officially see you off."

He knew that eye shift. It meant that there was something she was trying not to say. "Look at me." He grabbed her hands and held them at his sides. "What's wrong?"

"It's just..." She rolled her eyes as if she was irritated at the words coming out of her mouth. "Last time you went on a run..."

_Last time I went on a run, I got shot. __So that's what it is._ The Stepford Wife/porn star routine was because she was afraid that he wouldn't make it back. He sighed. "Look, babe-"

She held up her hand. "Don't," she said. "It's my fault. I know this is part of the deal and I'm being ridiculous. I'm sorry."

His perfect old lady had revealed a flaw. _So she does get nervous. _Juice didn't know what to say. She hated false promises so he couldn't give her the corny "I promise I'll be back" routine. He took that risk every time he went out on the road.

Kyra exhaled. "Just do your best to get back to me in one piece, okay?" She paused. She was struggling with her words again. She exhaled once more, letting her shoulders rise and fall in a fashion more dramatic than he was used to seeing from her. "You know I love you, right?"

Juice didn't realize until the words came out that neither of them had ever said them before. Of course, she loved him. She didn't strike him as the kind of woman who'd go to the lengths she had: inviting him into her home, cooking his meals, and adjusting to his non-traditional lifestyle, for just anybody. And since he assumed that she loved him, he naturally assumed she knew he loved her. He'd known the morning in the clubhouse after his shooting when he asked her to be his old lady. _I guess it doesn't matter how laid back and rational she is, she's still a chick. _A verbal declaration of love was still a big deal to her. He smiled, pulled her closer, and rested his forehead on hers. "Well when you put it that way, I guess I don't have a choice, do I?" He leaned down and pressed his lips onto hers. She tried to deepen the kiss, but he pulled away. He wouldn't let her kiss him like they'd never see each other again. "I love you, too," he whispered.

The bikes revved up around him. It was time to ride out. He kissed her again, this time slipping in a little tongue. "Two days?" she asked, holding up two fingers.

He nodded. "Yup. Two days."

She gave him a small smile. "Okay. Go do your thing." she said, stepping away from the row of Harleys.

Jax settled down on the bike next to him. "Everything aiight?" he asked.

"She'll be fine," Juice replied. "She's just gotta get used to this part."

"Yeah, so do you."

Juice frowned. "What do you mean?"

Jax fastened his helmet. "That's the thing about having an old lady. It's not just about you and the club anymore. You don't make it back, that's her burden. No matter how cool they are with the Life, they never want to get that phone call. You tell her you're comin' back, you gotta make it back, bro."

When he was a prospect, Tig always advised him against having an old lady. "Bitches throw you off your game, man. Gotta stay focused." But as Juice revved up his Dyna, he realized that for him, it would be the opposite. When it was just him, out on the road, he was only responsible to himself. Whatever happened, would happen. The club would mourn and then heal and move forward. But he wasn't that carefree boy anymore. He was a man with responsibility to both the club and the woman he'd invited into his life. That meant no goofy slip ups. She expected him back in two days. He wouldn't make her wait in vain.


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N: __So this chapter is a little bit of fluff. We get some more Kyra/Tara bonding and another peak into Kyra's past. Reading through it, I know Tara goes a little OOC, but keep in mind that she's drunk and high. Ugh. The fact that I have to explain that probably means I should re-write this. Or maybe I'm just being too picky. Let me know how this works. _**

_**Kyra**_

Kyra usually loved Charming's peaceful and quiet atmosphere, but as she sat on her living room floor surrounded by CPA study guides and flashcards, she resented the fact that she didn't live in a bigger city. It was a Friday night and she didn't expect Juice to be back from his run until Saturday afternoon. That left an entire evening for her to waste in her mind, predicting worse case scenarios. She tried to distract herself by studying for her upcoming CPA exam so that she could become a certified accountant, but the noise in her mind combined with the quiet outside prevented her from retaining any information. What she needed was a drink and conversation interesting enough to distract her from her thoughts. She picked up her Blackberry and wondered what Tara was up to. Knowing her, she was either at St. Thomas or at home knee-deep in diapers and baby toys. Kyra was pleasantly surprised when she called her new friend and found out that she had the night off. "Well, I've got food and liquor over here that I'd love for you to help me get rid of," she offered.

"Actually, that sounds great," Tara replied. "I can drop the boys off at Gemma's and be over in about an hour."

An hour and a half later, the two women were stretched out on Kyra's living room floor, downing rum and Cokes and sharing a large pan of lasagna. About halfway through the evening, after they nearly polished off a bottle of Malibu, Kyra brought out a couple of Juice's leftover joints to keep their buzzes afloat. She was shocked when Tara lit up first and toked like a professional. She was even more shocked when Tara got up to refill her glass and she spotted the top of a bird's head tattooed on her lower back. "Wow, Doc. Never figured you for the tramp stamp type."

Tara reached back and caressed the tattoo. "Oh, that? I was seventeen and high out of my damned mind. Jax and I were at a party at the clubhouse. Hap was doing tattoos and it kinda just happened."

That made sense. She couldn't imagine an adult Tara agreeing to rock a tramp stamp. "You mind if I take a closer look?" The doctor lifted her shirt and allowed her to study the ink. It was a crow that looked similar to the one that Lyla sported on her upper arm. _So this is the SAMCRO Old Lady tat. _When she looked closer, she noticed words under the crow's wings. It took her a moment to make out the calligraphy, but when she did, she broke into a fit of laughter. "Wait. Does that say 'Property of Jax Teller?' Damn. Young Jackson must've been layin' some mean pipe to earn that."

Tara's cheeks turned a deep red. "Yeah he was, well _is_, pretty amazing in that department."

Kyra took a hit of her joint. "He was your first, right?"

"Yeah," Tara said with a nod. "Lost my virginity in that damn clubhouse. What about you? What was your first like?"

"My first time or my first love? They were two different guys." One was simple and drama-free. The other was a sordid tale that would haunt the rest of her relationships for years to come. At least until she was dealt a taste of her own medicine.

"Both."

"Well, let's see," Kyra started. "My first _time_ I was sixteen, he was eighteen. His name was Antoine and he was one of the handful of black people who went to my high school. Pretty boy, star of the basketball team, all that. I wasn't in love. Just infatuated because he was popular and not a drug dealer. We broke up when he left to play ball at USC. I heard he actually went pro and is riding the bench in New Jersey or New York or somewhere."

Tara picked up a forkful of lasagna. "And your first love?"

"I met him when I was twenty. His name was Daniel, but everybody called him Rico because he was such a pretty boy. I guess I've always had a weakness for the pretty ones," she said with a slight chuckle. "Anyway, he was ten years older than me. Owned the barbershop across the street from my mother's salon. It was when my mother's cancer got bad and I had to take over managing the salon. It started out with him just being helpful. I remember there was a string of break-ins in the area, so he gave me a gun and took me to the range to teach me how to shoot. Somewhere in all that, it turned into something more. It went on for about a year, right up until my mother died."

"What happened?"

"Welllll," Kyra started. "His wife found out."

"Whoa."

"Yeah. I knew he was married the whole time, but I was young and exhausted from the responsibility of taking care of my mom and her business. And with Rico, I didn't have to be in charge. I could just relax and let someone take care of me for once. And the sex was just..._incredible. _Probably some of the best I've ever had."

"So what happened with his wife?"

Kyra sipped her drink as the memory played out in her mind. She'd never forget seeing Rico's wife storm into the salon, demanding to speak with the "Little bitch who was fucking her husband." Despite her tough talk, Kyra knew she wasn't a tough girl. Rico told her that his wife grew up in a privileged, suburban home and had never swung a fist in her life. Kyra tried to reason with her. "I understand you're upset, but this is a place of business. If you want to have a conversation with me, you'll have to wait until I'm off the clock."

But the woman refused to leave and kept making a scene until Kyra was forced to speak with her outside. She shouted and cussed and made threats. "Look, you have every right to be pissed, but if you keep talkin to me crazy, you're gonna get the Jerry Springer episode you tryna act out right here in the middle of the street," Kyra warned.

"I bet your poor mother is turning in her grave looking at the little slut she raised."

No sooner than the words left the woman's mouth did Kyra's fist land square in her right eye. She'd made the mistake of mentioning Kyra's mother the day after her funeral, so it no longer mattered to Kyra that she was in fact, in the wrong. The bitch had disrespected her mother's memory and therefore deserved whatever Kyra could dish out. The whole fight was blur. Mostly because Kyra fought through tear-filled eyes. She just remembered sirens and the cops pulling her away after she slammed the woman's face into the concrete sidewalk.

Kyra brought her attention back to Tara. "Long story short: she picked the wrong day to confront me and I beat her ass in the middle of the street. He and wifey made up. Me and Rico stopped seeing each other and a few months later, I left Oakland for good to go college."

Tara took a long pull of her joint. "College. The great equalizer that turns wild young girls into upstanding professional women. That is, until we hook up with bikers and end up living a life of crime anyway."

"Pfffff! Right!" Kyra chuckled. "Degree or not, I'll still hit a bitch, though."

"Really? I'd feel silly fighting at this point in my life."

"It's a respect thing," Kyra exhaled smoke. "There are people in the world who respect your degrees and hard work. Then there are other people who only respect force. And if they think they can get over on you, they will. Ninety percent of the time, I'm the bigger person. But then there's that ten percent that only understand a ass whoopin."

Tara laughed. "You almost sound like Gemma. But seriously, I'm glad you and Juice are together. Don't get me wrong, I like Lyla and Gemma's helpful with the boys but, you're the only person around here I can actually relate to. It's been one crisis after another since I came back to Charming. I don't even remember the last time I had normal girl talk."

"Same here," Kyra replied. "Hey. Do you worry? You know, when they go on out of town runs and stuff?"

"About what?" Tara asked. "The women or the likelihood something bad will happen?"

Kyra hadn't even entertained the thought of other women. She almost hoped that Juice cheated while he was on the road. Get it over with so she could stop waiting for karma to come back around. "Something bad happening. I didn't worry so much when Juice and I were just hanging out, but since the shooting..."

"I worry all the time about something bad happening. Whether Jax is in bed next to me or a thousand miles away. It's just like I told you that night in the clubhouse. The good times have to make it worth the times when you're scared shitless. Are you happy?"

"When my mother got sick, I kind of shut down. Neeta was in jail and the only other person in my life who cared belonged to someone else. Then my mom died and I moved to Sacramento and just went through the motions, you know? Then I moved to Charming and I started flirting with this cute Puerto Rican biker and all of a sudden, I feel..." Kyra searched for the right word. "I feel _alive_. And he's so sweet and so loyal. And I love him. So yeah. I'm happy."

Tara puffed her joint. "Hmmm. Sounds like you'll be getting inked in no time."

_**Juice **_

"Now peep it, here go the secret how to keep a playa. Some love makin' and homecookin', I'll see ya later. It don't take a lot to keep a nigga heaaart. Must be a lady in the light, but real freaky in the dark..."

Juice returned on Saturday afternoon to the sound of 2Pac blasting in the apartment. The scent of Pine-Sol greeted his nostrils and he realized that Kyra was in the midst of her weekly cleaning routine. The kitchen and living rooms were spotless and he could hear the echo of her rapping lyrics from the bathroom. "I bet ya never screamed a nigga's whole name out. And felt the pleasure and the pain, bout to fuck the very taste out ya mouth..."

She was in some kind of ghetto Martha Stewart zone, screaming along to the music and scrubbing the bathroom sink. She danced while she worked and Juice took pleasure in watching her ass sway in a pair of canary yellow pajama shorts that just barely grazed the top of her dark brown thighs. Later he'd tell her how dangerous it was to have the music up so loud that she couldn't hear someone come into the apartment, but for the moment he enjoyed the view. It'd been a long ride from Tacoma and he was happy come home and see her so relaxed and carefree. Especially when she'd been so stressed and nervous when he left.

"They call me Storm, from the day I was born. I been known to break the coldest muthafucka till his heart's warm..."

She was in full-on Oakland mode. There wasn't even a hint of the all business Kyra that she presented to the world. When he saw her like this, he could easily imagine her as a teenager, kicking ass and taking names in her old neighborhood.

"I know you've got some Biggie that you can play instead," he said, finally interrupting her. They had a running joke about Biggie versus 2Pac. Him being the New York native, preferred Biggie, while Kyra was a true California girl and idolized Pac.

She jumped a mile high and screamed. "SHIT!" When she registered his face, her frightened expression turned into a smile, right before she balled up her hand and landed a punch on his left shoulder. "Asshole. You scared the shit out of me."

Juice rubbed his shoulder. She hit pretty damn hard for a chick. "Hey babe," he said sarcastically. "Missed you, too."

She closed the space between them, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Welcome home," she purred and leaned up to kiss him. Juice's hands found her waist, pulling her body next to his while he caressed her lower back. Kyra didn't wear lip gloss around the house, so her lips were missing their signature strawberry taste, but he revelled in their softness and the way she nibbled on his bottom lip. "How'd everything go?" she asked, once she broke the kiss.

"Not a scratch or bullet wound on me," he replied. He leaned down and put his lips next to her ear. "Now what were you just singing about getting the taste fucked out of your mouth?"

She placed both hands on his cut and stepped back. "Nope. Not until you hit the shower. You smell like the road," She sniffed and crinkled up her nose. "and ass."

Juice was so used to the smell of pussy that permeated every clubhouse he barely noticed it on his clothes anymore. Sweetbutts were always part of the welcome package when they visited other charters. He was on his best behavior in Tacoma, sticking close to Jax and Opie, rather than Tig and Chibs, who always partook in out of state action. Still, there was no way to avoid the scent of lewd acts, especially when he slept in an open room where a little bit of everything went down. "Occupational hazard," he said with a smile. "All clubhouses smell like pussy."

Kyra raised a brow. "Yeah, I'm sure. Well, if you want any of _this_, you'll rid yourself of that stench and do it quickly."

She wasn't going to get away that easily. While she'd given him more than enough to hold him over before he left for Tacoma, he'd been staring at bare tits and asses in G-strings for the last two days. Not only had he kept his word to return in one piece, but he'd also been a good boy while he was away. He was ready to collect his reward. Before she could leave the bathroom, he grabbed her hand and pinned her against the wall. She was bra-less beneath her T-shirt and he stiffened when her nipples hardened against his chest. He flicked her earlobe with the tip of his tongue and slid his hand down the front of her shorts. "Why don't you join me?" he whispered, applying soft strokes to the moistness that greeted his fingertips. "Make sure I get all the hard to reach spots."

She answered with a satisfied moan and Juice smiled against her neck when she slid his cut off of his shoulders. Her hands found the sides of his face and she turned his head so that they were face to face. "Thanks for keeping your word," she whispered before nipping at his bottom lip with her teeth. "Now let's get you cleaned up."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Kyra**_

There was a Wal-mart in Charming and Kyra was amazed at how enthusiastic the town was about its grand opening. The crowded aisles and glowing faces of the locals in the town's first franchise store was a surefire signal that she was indeed in Hicktown, USA. Juice hated the idea of "retail assholes" taking residence in SAMCRO's territory and bitched the entire time he and Kyra walked around the store. She wanted to ask, _What the fuck is the big deal?_ It wasn't like he was a Charming native and felt nostalgic about its small town history. He was from New York, for Christ's sake. He had to know that at some point, Charming would attempt to become a modern city.

She stopped scanning the spices and seasonings long enough to catch a glimpse of his face. It read a look of pure torture. Like he was a five year old who'd been forced to go dress shopping with his mother. She almost chuckled out loud at the contrast of his childish scowl and the menacing cut and tattoos he sported. "Hey," she said. "I'm just about done here. If you can go hunt down the liquor aisle and grab me a bottle of Malibu, I'll meet you at the cash registers and we can get out of here."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Got it," Juice said, and walked off with his usual bounce step. Kyra caught the smile that threatened to spread across her lips. She found herself doing that often; looking at Juice and breaking into a goofy grin. He was just so damned sweet and she'd never experienced that kind of sweetness with a man before. Rico and the guys she hung out with in Sacramento were always too cool, too pretty and stuck on themselves for that kind of thing. Juice, on the other hand, was all loyalty and adoration when it came to her. Just recently, he'd ordered the entire Sade live convert DVD collection for her. "You know, since I made you miss the concert a few months back," he'd said. He'd also bought a desk and set up a study area in her second bedroom where she could study for her CPA exam uninterrupted. Kyra found it ironic that the only "bad boy" she'd ever dated turned out to be the kindest of the whole bunch.

She was waiting for Juice at the front of the store when she heard someone call out her name. She turned around to see Debbie, a frumpy blonde who worked with her at Oswald Industries, giving her an enthusiastic wave. While Kyra was always cordial in the office, she wasn't fond enough of any of her coworkers to get excited about running into them around town. _Now, now Kyra. Don't be the rude black girl. _She forced a polite smile. "Hi, Debbie."

Debbie's blue eyes widened. "Big deal, huh?" she said, with the wave of her hand.

Kyra was lost. "Huh?"

"The store," Debbie chirped. "Big deal for Charming. Looks like we're finally in the 21st century."

_I guess it'd be a big deal to me too if I grew up in Mayberry. _Kyra nodded. "It's nice." Her response came out flatter than expected and Debbie was taken aback. Kyra diverted her eyes to the husky brown-haired man who stood behind the petite blond. "Is this your husband?"

Debbie's smile returned as she smacked her forehead. "Oh, of course. Where are my manners? Kyra, this is my husband Bill. Bill, this is Kyra; Elliot's executive assistant."

Bill reached out, pointing five fat fingers at Kyra before closing his hand around hers. "Nice to meet you, Kyra." As soon as the statement left his mouth, his eyes glassed over and hardened. Bill and Debbie's cheerful faces dropped, as if they'd seen something that disgusted them. A firm hand grazed her butt and she felt what she knew was Juice's hard chest against her back.

"Here...babe," he said, carefully placing the Malibu rum into her basket. The catch in his voice indicated that he knew he'd walked into an awkward moment.

The four of them stood silent for a moment. The couple looked like they'd seen the boogey man and it caught Kyra off guard. Finally she cleared her throat. "Debbie, Bill, this is my boyfriend Juan." She said it in vain. Juice was wearing his cut, which told Bill and Debbie everything they needed to know about him. It didn't help that she had on a black leather motorcycle jacket. _I __**would**__ pick today to look all biker bitch._The disdain on their faces was clear as day.

"Honey, let's go," Bill said. "We told Mom we'd pick up the kids by seven."

Debbie's eyes were fixed on Juice. "Yeah, we should go. See you at the office on Monday, Kyra." Before Kyra could utter another word, they'd walked away.

She should have been concerned. She already had problems fitting in at Oswald. They saw her as an outsider; the young, college-educated, city-bred black girl whose style was too fancy for the plain folks of Charming. Now, word would circulate around the office that she was shacked up with one of the town's outlaws. But as she felt the warmth of Juice's palm resting protectively on her lower back, Kyra couldn't find a reason to give a shit what her coworkers thought. "Well, damn," she said, turning around to face him. "Guess this means I can't take you to the office Christmas party."

Juice shrugged. "Their loss. I do a pretty badass version of 'Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer' too."

If she beamed any harder, she would have hated herself. This man was turning her into a puddle of mush. "Fuck 'em. Let's get out of here so I can go home and kick that ass on Wii Boxing."

Kyra prayed that Juice was too tired for sex. Usually, a flick on his tongue on the right body part could get her raring to go, but after five rounds of Wii Boxing, she was drained. She was relieved when he stripped down and flopped into bed next to her, sans the suggestive grin that let her know he wanted some. Instead, he pulled her back against his chest, threw his arm over her waist, and let out a heavy sigh.

"Yeah, I'd be tired too if I was you," Kyra teased, "after taking those three ass-whoopins."

"You're lucky I'm too tired to shut you up," he rubbed a slight bulge against her ass. "I bet I'd win round six."

"Naaaah. I think I'll just take my victory and go to sleep."

He circled a patch of skin on her stomach with his index finger. "Chicken shit."

They lay in silence while his hand lazily explored her torso. He started at her navel and moved across her hip and onto her back. A fingertip on her lower back turned her on, but his full palm on her back relaxed her. As he rubbed the area, she remembered Tara's tattoo. "Did you know that Tara has a tramp stamp that says 'Property of Jax Teller' on it?" She asked through a yawn.

"I always knew she had a crow, just never knew where. Why? You want one?"

She scoffed. "Um in case you haven't noticed, I'm black. We're a little sensitive about the whole 'human property' thing."

"Not the property part, but a crow."

She hadn't really thought about it. Tattoos were such a permanent thing and she didn't have any. Not even one for her mother. She was sure that she loved Juice, but the crow symbolized a bond to SAMCRO, and she just wasn't there yet. She did what was expected of her: always welcoming his brothers into her home with a smile, knowing when he needed the room for a private conversation, and was even making an effort to fit in with the other old ladies, but these were things she did out of duty. She didn't mind them, but she didn't particularly enjoy them either. At least not enough stamp a crow on her body. "I don't know," she finally answered, "maybe one day."

Kyra waited for a reply, but only heard his heavy breathing that would soon become a full-fledged snore. She arched her back, nestling her backside against his pelvis before closing her eyes and falling into her own sleep.

A small, sharp pain in her right arm interrupted Kyra's slumber. She attempted to say "Ouch," but her lips were pressed against her face by a calloused hand. _What the fuck?_ Her eyes snapped open and saw the white of Juice's wide eyes against the pitch black bedroom. _Is this some kind of dream inside a dream? Oh my God, he's gonna kill me. I've let a fuckin' psycho into my house._ She was about to bite his hand and demand he tell her what the fuck he was doing, when he leaned down and pressed his mouth against her ear: "I think there's somebody in the house. Don't make a sound."

A million questions zoomed through her mind. Who the fuck was in her house? Why were they there? Why was Juice so damned calm about it? Did it have something to do with the club? Were they gonna die? _This muthafucka is gonna get me killed already. Wait. Stop. Calm down Kyra. Panicking will only make it worse. _She closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose onto Juice's hand. She nodded. The cool bedroom air swept across her freed lips and she exhaled again.

"Now I need you to do exactly as I say," he whispered, "I'm gonna go see what's going on. I want you to get your gun and stand behind the bedroom door. Keep it closed and don't come out unless I give you the word. Anybody tries to come in here, kill 'em."

Kyra nodded again and watched as Juice eased off of the bed. He was still in his boxers and made no moves toward his sweatpants on the floor, instead going right for his holster that hung from the headboard. A slice of moonlight that shone through the blinds caught his face, revealing a hard, focused expression that she'd never seen before. The muscles in his arm and shoulder tensed as he gripped the butt of his 9 mm glock in his right hand. He cocked it slowly, wincing at the small "click-clack" that thundered against the stillness of the room. There was effortlessness in his movements that reminded Kyra of Juice's life away from her: a life where he tip-toed on the line of life and death on a regular basis and managed to survive. He knew what he was doing and that knowledge gave her a strange sense of ease.

He motioned for her to get up and she obeyed, stretching toward her nightstand drawer where she kept a Smith & Wesson .38 Special that Juice had given her when he moved in. She'd had a 9mm glock of her own, but he'd told her that unless she got into regular shoot outs, the .38 was a better gun for her. He was right. The revolver was way more user friendly.

Gun in hand, Kyra climbed out of bed and stood next to Juice. He waved her toward the wall behind the door. Her heart pounded in her ears as he carefully turned the handle and cracked the door open just wide enough so that he could slip out of the room. In that brief moment, she heard a faint, rustling sound in the front room. Before she could hear anything more, he closed the door behind him with a soft click.

She choked the handle of the .38 and pressed her ear to the door. She hoped to hear something—anything—that would tell her Juice was okay and in control of the situation. She didn't know who or what was out there, or why. And while she'd heard his directions, there was no way she could hide behind the door while something happened to him. _Fuck that. If I hear a gun go off, I'm goin' out there._

There were muffled voices; Juice's and another, higher-pitched male voice. _Okay, so it's just one guy. _She couldn't make out what they were saying, but Juice was practically barking. Kyra looked at the clock on the nightstand. The seconds crawled by, and as each one passed, her hand inched closer to the doorknob. He was going to be pissed, but she didn't care. The silence and the unknown were killing her. She closed her eyes and gripped the doorknob, turning it slowly before cracking the door open. It was just enough to let sound and a strip of light from the hallway into the bedroom.

The speaking had been replaced by grunts. Kyra heard glass shatter against tile and knew that they were scuffling in the kitchen. There was a crash and then the unfamiliar voice yelped. She was still debating going into the living room when she heard Juice yell. "Kyra! Get out here!"

It had to be safe. He wouldn't tell her to come out if he thought she'd be in danger, but just in case, she raised the .38 as she walked down the hallway. When she got to the front room, she saw the intruder, a skinny white guy she guessed to be in his thirties, hemmed against wall next to the front door. His chin-length blond hair looked like it hadn't been washed in weeks and was stuck to his face by a mixture of oil and sweat. His blue eyes were bulging and bloodshot and Kyra couldn't tell if he was high or just struggling for oxygen because Juice's forearm was jammed under his chin. Blood oozed from his nose and lips. "Jesus Christ," Kyra whispered, her gun trained on the intruder.

"Memorize this shithead's face, Kyra," Juice growled. "Cuz the next time he shows up within a fuckin' mile of this neighborhood, I'm gonna jam my gun down his junkie throat and make him suck it before I blow his fuckin' head off."

The threat almost made her jump right out of her skin. It wasn't the words, but how easily they'd rolled off of his tongue that startled her. She couldn't see his face, but as he stood, dressed only in boxer shorts, she saw nearly every muscle in his body flex beneath his sweat-drenched beige skin. The ink images on his arms, the ones she routinely dug her nails into when they made love, suddenly took on a sinister appearance. The man before her was not the sweet, easy going boyfriend who'd let her drag him through Wal-Mart just hours ago.

"You got your gun on him?"

Kyra tightened her grip on the .38 and aimed at the intruder's face. She didn't think it was possible for his eyes to get any bigger, but forcing him to stare down the barrel of her gun proved otherwise. He squirmed and whimpered. "Yeah," she answered.

Juice snatched the man by the front of his blood-stained T-shirt and used his free hand to open the door. "Follow me," he commanded.

She obeyed, keeping the gun raised as she followed Juice onto the deck. For a moment, she thought he was going to throw the man off of the balcony. They were only on the second floor, but the thought still made her shiver. She was relieved when he instead flung him toward the stairs and grabbed her gun. "Now get the fuck out of here," Juice spat, aiming for his chest. He kept the gun raised until the man had stumbled down the wooden stairs and limped off into the night. When they were sure he was gone, Juice dropped his arms and exhaled into the cold November air. "Let's get inside."

Kyra had questions. Why had someone broken into her house? Who was he? Why didn't they call the police? But the cold glare in Juice's eyes told her to hold off on an interrogation. Instead, she stepped back into the apartment to survey the damage. Most of her things were still intact, though she could see where the intruder had disconnected the Nintendo Wii and her DVD player. The kitchen was a little worse off. They'd knocked some of her wine glasses onto the floor during their scuffle and some of her mother's good silverware was on the floor. There was also a trail of blood droplets that led from the kitchen to the doorway. Cleaning that out of the carpet was going to be a bitch.

"You okay?" Juice's voice interrupted her inspection. The growl was gone and when she turned around to look at him, his face was relaxed. He was back to his normal self. She studied his body for indications of the fight and saw a few scratches on his arms and neck. There was a slight swelling in his left cheek that would turn into an ugly bruise by morning. "I'm fine," she replied. "You might want to get some ice on that cheek though."

He rubbed the sore spot and cringed. "Yeah. You're right."

She went to grab some ice from the freezer, but remembered the broken glass on the floor. She folded her arms. "So what was that all about?"

He flopped down on the couch. "From what I could tell, just a meth-head lookin' to trade some valuables for crank cash. He didn't get anything though."

That explained the bloodshot eyes and how easily he'd crumbled under Juice's forearm. "Shouldn't we call the cops?"

Juice's eyes narrowed. "No." he boomed. "County sheriffs woulda come in here, took one look at me, and somehow made this my fault. All they need is to find some bud or a handgun and they can ship my ass right back to Stockton."

So "no cops" in SAMCRO meant absolutely no cops under any circumstances. Kyra made the mental note. "So now what?" she asked.

"I'm gonna call the new Prospect over to take care of the mess and the busted lock. Throw on some clothes and pack a bag. We're crashing at the clubhouse."

The ride to the clubhouse was quiet. Juice whipped her Mustang through the empty Charming streets while Kyra nodded into and out of sleep. There was a strange man in her apartment, and this should have bothered her, but by the time the dark-haired, puppy-eyed Prospect arrived at her place, she was too tired to care. She just wanted to go to sleep, wake up, and return to an apartment that showed no signs of a break-in.

When she thought about it, she actually should have been bothered by a lot; namely what little she knew about the man she loved and had shared her home with for the last two months. It wasn't that she didn't know he had a dark side. There were a lot of vibes she picked up from SAMCRO men, but "pussy" wasn't one of them. Juice had to be hard to deal with the shit that came with MC life. It was just that she'd never seen that side of him for herself until that night. What scared her more than the coldness in his eyes and the harshness in his voice was how _safe_ he'd made her feel. She should have been turned off. She should have been disturbed, but when she glanced over at Juice, the only feeling she could identify was gratitude. She had a _man_ who was sweet enough to let her drag him grocery shopping, and strong enough to jam a gun down a man's throat to protect her.

She studied the Reaper tattoo on his arm as he gripped the steering wheel and for the first time since she'd met him five months ago, she didn't feel indifferent about it. If SAMCRO had made him the man that had protected her house that night, she could definitely learn to love it.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Kyra**_

She should have never let him put his lips on her. Her alarm had gone off at 9:00am. It was Thanksgiving morning and Gemma expected her at the clubhouse to start cooking at 10:30. It was 9:45 and Kyra was still in bed, laying on her side with Juice's lips on her neck and his tattooed arm snaked around her waist as he stroked her from behind. She'd tried to refuse him and get out of bed on time, but when he pulled her back to him and started nibbling her neck and whispering in her ear, she knew she was a goner. Then he'd gone and slipped inside of her from what he knew was her favorite position. "Gotdamn," she whispered when he hit a good spot. She was going to be so late, but shit, he felt so good. This man did not play fair.

"You still gotta go?" Juice teased, massaging her right breast while he worked. "Huh?"

_So you wanna get cocky? _Kyra thought. "Oh, word?" she challenged between deep breaths. "Okay, I gotchu." She leaned forward slightly and arched her ass up, meeting his thrusts with a hard, slow grind.

He responded with a hiss. "Shiiit, Kyra..." His hand fell down to her hip, squeezing as her ass pushed against his pelvis. She leaned farther, gripping the side of the bed to stay balanced and pushed back even harder. Oh damn, that was it. His thickness throbbed against her slippery walls and she felt the beginnings of an orgasm rumble in the pit of her stomach. She knew just how to end this. She slid her hand between her legs and massaged her clit, still bucking against him. "Meet me at the finish line, babe? Huh?"

"Oh fuck..."

Kyra bit her bottom lip and smirked. _Just as I thought... _She pressed her index and middle fingers against her clit and the rumble erupted into a warm, tingly tidal wave that rolled all the way down to her toes. She sunk her teeth into the pillow, letting it swallow her moans. Juice, unable to resist the combination of her wetness and pulsating around him, exploded shortly afterward, clenching her back against his chest as his muscles shuddered around her. "Cheater," he panted, still struggling to catch his breath.

She turned her head and planted a kiss on his nose. "You started it. Don't get mad cuz I finished it." She tossed his arm off of her and wiggled out of his embrace. "Now let me go. Can't keep Queen Mother Gemma waiting."

Kyra pulled up to the Teller Morrow lot as Tara turned off the ignition in her vintage Cutlass. She always laughed when she saw the doctor in the long, black, menacing-looking car. It was the only thing about her that said "biker chick." The first time she rode with Tara, she asked how she felt driving around town looking like she was about to do a drive-by shooting. "Damn, if I'm pulling up the same time as you, I _must _be late," Kyra teased.

"Only by about twenty minutes," Tara said, reaching into the backseat for Tommy's car seat. "And here I am thinking I'll be on time because I only had one baby to take care of this morning. What's your excuse?"

"I had a twenty-eight year old baby who wouldn't let me out of bed." Kyra looked down into the car seat to see a giggling Tommy. With Tara's chestnut brown hair and dark brown eyes and Jax's unmistakable smile, the kid was going to be a heartbreaker. "Happy Thanksgiving, Little Man," she cooed. The ten month old clapped and flashed a baby version of his father's grin. "You know you're gonna have to buy condoms as soon as this boy turns twelve, right?"

Tara rolled her eyes. "The sad part is, you're right. If these boys are anything like their father..."

"... You're gonna have to be Gemma Jr."

"Oh God. Please don't say that," Tara replied with a laugh as Kyra opened the clubhouse door. The heavy aromas of fresh bread and sweet butter wafted out into the air. Tara inhaled and smiled. "Smells like Bobby made muffins."

The smell was heavenly, but did Tara say that Bobby made muffins? Maybe she meant some sweetbutt named Bobbi, because Kyra could not imagine the old, graying biker mixing muffin batter. Sure enough, when they got to the common room, Bobby, as in the club's short, chubby treasurer, walked out of the kitchen with a platter of muffins and a coffee mug. _I swear these men are full of surprises, _she thought. "Happy Turkey Day, ladies," he said as he placed the platter on the bar. "Help yourselves."

A flood of smart ass comments entered Kyra's mind at the sight of Bobby as the club's homemaker, but she bit every one of them back. She knew that MC men didn't take kindly to women who mouthed off too much, and though she was Juice's Old Lady, she wasn't comfortable enough with any of the other SAMCRO men to share her sense of humor with them. Instead she gave him her usual polite smile. "Good morning, Bobby." She pointed at the muffins. "You baked those?"

His eyes sparkled under his glasses as he gave a proud nod. "Yup. From scratch. All organic."

"Where's Gemma?" Tara asked, perusing the muffins.

"In the kitchen with Neeta and your boy," he replied. "I made the muffins cuz I figured you ladies would need some morning fuel. I'm goin' to the back to catch a few more winks. Wake me up when it's time to eat."

"Well look who's finally escaped from the love nest." Kyra looked up and saw her aunt walk out of the kitchen with a food stain-covered Abel in her arms. "Shame when you need a holiday to see your own flesh and blood."

Kyra smiled and shook her head. Neeta was right. Since Juice moved in, she'd barely seen her aunt. She walked up and placed a peck on Neeta's cheek. "Heeeeey Auntie," she said playfully.

Neeta rolled her eyes. "Mmm hmm. 'Hey Auntie,' my foot." Abel spotted Tara and bounced in Neeta's arms. "Ma! Ma!" he squealed.

"I was just about to give him a bath," Neeta said.

Tara pulled him from Neeta's arms. "I'll do it. Something tells me I'll be more useful taking care of this than in the kitchen." The doc was right. Her surgeon's precision made her pretty good at chopping ingredients, but she was a notoriously bad cook.

"Speaking of the kitchen," Neeta said, looking at Kyra. "You might wanna get in there. Gemma's cussin' ya'll to hell for bein' late."

_When isn't Gemma cussing me to hell? _Kyra thought as she made her way into the kitchen. Gemma was there, decked in her usual flannel, with her dark brown and platinum blond highlighted hair pulled away from her face. "Morning, Gemma."

"Not like you to be late," she answered, passing Kyra an apron. She stopped and studied Kyra's face. "I'd ask what got hold of you this morning, but I'm pretty sure I know the answer."

Kyra had to chuckle. For all of Gemma's faults, she was perceptive as hell. Oddly enough, she was getting used to Gemma's style of communication. After some observation, she realized the woman was used to speaking in directives. Kyra no longer took it personally when Gemma barked on her, since she pretty much took that tone with everyone. "Yeah, it was one of those mornings," she said with a smirk, tying the apron behind her back. "Where should I start?"

"Potatoes need mashing. Have Tara slice up the garlic when she gets in here."

"Yes ma'am," Kyra replied out of habit. As she surveyed the chopped potatoes in the bowl in front of her, she wondered when she'd gone from using that phrase sarcastically to actually deferring to the Queen.

Between noon and one o' clock, the SAMCRO men began their slow descent upon the clubhouse and soon the sounds of dirty banter and deep-voiced laughter bounced off of the walls. Eventually, a few Crow Eaters showed up, mostly to fetch beers while the old ladies held down the kitchen and the handful of children running around the clubhouse. Kyra had taken a break from cooking duty and was posted against the bar nursing a glass of Merlot. She remembered how much shit the guys initially gave Juice over his "fancy, wine-sippin' old lady," and treated the lack of attention to her beverage as a sign that they were used to having her around.

She scanned the room and found Juice watching a heated game of pool between Kozik and Bobby. She observed him for a moment; first taking in his solid, muscular frame and easy smile, and then his biker adornments: the tats, his cut, and the bulky gold rings that occupied all of his fingers. _Where did this shit come from? _She wondered. Her love for Juice, her level of comfort in this nearly foreign world. No way could she have ever seen this coming.

"Ah, I remember that well," Tara said, as she joined Kyra at the bar. "Can't even look at him without smiling, huh?"

Kyra shook her head. "What? Was I smiling?"

"So hard I was about to ask if your face hurts."

Kyra turned toward Tara. "Can I ask you a question?"

She nodded. "Sure."

Kyra paused a moment. She didn't want to offend Tara, and knew she had to choose her words carefully, but she'd had a nagging feeling for the last couple of weeks and needed to talk it over. "The club shit, does it ever turn you on?"

The doctor crinkled her brows. "What do you mean?"

"I know you've been through some heavy-duty shit since you've been back with Jax," Kyra started, "and I don't wanna make light of that. But the guns, the violence? Do they ever make you look at him like 'Wow?'"

Tara's eyes crossed the room to the couch where Jax was seated with Tommy in his lap. "I... I don't know. Why?"

Kyra sighed. "I've just had this feeling since the break in. Before, the club was this thing that I tolerated because it was part of Juice's life, you know? But since the break-in, when he threatened that guy, it's different. Like when he throws on his holster and that cut now, deep down, there's this part of me that appreciates it. Knowing that he'd kill for me, in an instant? It's kinda...and I swear I hate myself for thinkin' this, but it's kinda sexy."

Tara got a far away look in her eyes that made Kyra regret her comment. From what she'd heard, Tara'd been through hell: kidnapped, witnessed murder, and held at gunpoint more than once, and here she was, romanticizing the shit. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to-."

Tara shook her head, her eyes fixed on Jax. "No, it's fine. And yeah. I know exactly what you mean."

_**Juice **_

"Oh blow me, you blond pussy," Tig snarled at Kozik. Juice leaned against the wall, nursing his cigarette and laughing at the scene before him. After winning $50 off of Bobby in a game of pool, Kozik had challenged Tig and the request had resulted in their usual back and forth. Tig could be insufferable on a regular day, but it was amazing how easily Koz got under his skin.

"Sorry Tiggy, but me blowing you would mean you actually had a dick."

Juice butt in. "I'm reeeeally starting to think there's some repressed sexual tension between you two. You should go in a back room and work that shit out."

Tig's blue eyes lit up. "Oh yeah? Is that what you did for good old Deon back in county? Helped him work his shit out?"

Koz exploded into laughter and Juice had no choice but to hang his head. He'd never hear the end of Deon, as long as he lived. Koz walked over and gave him a pat on his back. "It's okay, Juicey. At least you've traded up in the fine chocolate ass department. This one still gets off grindin' on horses' asses."

And just like that, Juice was laughing again. "Can't argue with that, brother. You've got the warrants to prove it." Wait. Had Koz called Kyra "fine chocolate ass?" It was so hard for him to remind his brothers not to look at his lady that way. Especially since he always agreed with their assessments. As far as he was concerned, he had the hottest chick in the entire club. But still, he'd have to remember to tell them to stop ogling her.

"You little shit. I was your sponsor and you back this douche?" Tig spat at Juice.

_This from the guy who once threatened to dunk his balls in my mouth because I wanted to have a general conversation. _"You were like, the _worst _sponsor in the history of all sponsorship, Tig."

Tig shook his head. "This is what happens when you patch little pussy pretty boys," he mumbled. "Fuck the both a' you."

Juice chuckled as Tig stalked away. "Dude, are you two ever gonna squash your shit?" he asked Koz. After they'd finished serving their sentence in Stockton, Tig had finally, but reluctantly, voted to let Koz join SAMCRO. Nonetheless, they still couldn't be within twenty-five feet of each other without bickering like bitchy school girls.

"Eh. We could, but where's the fun in that? Next to pussy, fuckin' with him is my main source of entertainment around here."

Juice took a pull from his cigarette. "I can't decide if that's really funny or really sad."

"Maybe I'll settle down like you, Jax, and Ope. Get a chick. Have some kids. Give me something more productive to do when I'm off the road."

_Kids? Who the hell said anything about kids? _"Whoa, slow down, brother. I'm not in the wife and kids club yet."

Koz pointed across the room at Jax, who was bouncing his youngest son in his lap. "You think Daddy Day Care over there thought he was ready for another kid when Tara moved in? That's just how it happens. First comes live-in pussy, then comes a knocked up chick." He laughed. "Just wait. You two'll have little mutts runnin' around here any day now."

Juice cringed at the mention of he and Kyra's non-existant kids being considered "mutts." He'd never noticed how many off-color racial slurs they used until he started bringing her around and praying she never heard any of them. His eyes searched the room and found her at the bar, in the middle of a deep conversation with Tara. He realized that they never talked about kids. Hell, they were barely even splitting the bills at the apartment. He couldn't imagine actually sitting down and talking about something as serious as kids. But it didn't matter anyway. She was on the pill and he was still wrapping up. "Not gonna happen. I'm still wrappin' my shit."

Koz looked shocked. "You're wrappin' up with live-in pussy?"

He wasn't a fan of it either, but he wasn't as far removed from his days in the clubhouse as Kyra would have liked, so she still demanded he wrap up. They had occasional slips, like the incredible one that morning when he'd caught her off guard, but most of the time, she was good about reaching in the nightstand drawer for a condom. That wasn't the kind of answer to share with a brother though. No need to give the impression that he didn't have control over his house. "Yup. No Daddy Day Care for me."

About ten minutes later, dinner was served. The ladies laid out a buffet-style set up, so it was every man for himself. Juice piled his plate high with turkey and stuffing, ham, garlic mashed potatoes, green beans, macaroni and cheese, corn muffins, and cranberry sauce. He was so used to Kyra's cooking that he could tell which dishes she'd helped prepare. The mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese were heavily seasoned, which was a tell tale sign of his woman's hand.

He watched her move through the room and admired how effortlessly she fit into his world. Their first dinner at Gemma's had been touch and go, but here, she was totally at ease. He could tell because at that first dinner, she'd needed wine to help her loosen up. This time, she sipped bottled water at the table and didn't show a single sign of discomfort.

When dinner ended, he sat with Kyra as she held Abel in her lap. Koz had him thinking about children, so he paid close attention to her interactions with the two year old. She was good at making him laugh, but when Abel got fussy, he could sense her nervousness. _She's just as goofy with kids as I am_, he thought when she scanned the room for Jax or Tara when Abel started wailing.

He joined Jax and Chibs at the bar for shots of Jack Daniels. He was about four drinks in when Neeta took a seat next to him. Even under the haze of whiskey, he knew she wanted to talk to him about Kyra. After all, what other reason would she have for wanting to speak to him?

"She seems happy," Neeta said, watching Kyra across the room with Lyla and Tara.

Juice pushed his fifth shot away and turned toward Neeta. "I try to keep her that way."

"She's a tough girl, you know? Me and her mother raised her that way. Taught her to be responsible and handle her business."

He didn't know what to say, so he just nodded. He sensed that from Kyra; her strength and sense of responsibility. She rarely complained. Always did what needed to be done. It was one of many things that he loved about her.

"Really we did her a disservice," Neeta said. "She's so used to doin' what she's gotta do, I don't think she's ever known what she really wanted. She's different with you, though. Lighter. Freer. I can't say I'm okay with your risky lifestyle, but she's spent so much of her life takin' care of everything and everyone. It's good to know that somebody's finally takin' care of her."

Juice didn't know if it was his heart or the whiskey floating around in his system that possessed his mouth. He just knew he couldn't stop the words that spilled out. "I love the hell out of that girl, Neeta."

She nodded, looking at him with a smile. "I know you do. Long as you keep that up, you're alright with me."


	7. Chapter 7

_**Juice **_

"I want a tattoo."

The words rolled off her lips so easily, it took Juice a moment to realize what she'd said. It was Friday night and he'd just finished a session of Church with the guys. Kyra had been waiting for him outside with Lyla. He'd forgotten that Happy was going to start on his Reaper back tat, an exact duplication of his cut inked into his back that would take at least a week to finish, and was coming out to tell her that she could head home without him. Activity buzzed around the lot, with hangarounds, both male and female, descending upon the clubhouse for the weekly after-Church festivities.

Once he processed the statement, his eyebrows shot up. She was ready for her Crow? The last time they'd discussed it, she didn't sound too enthused about the idea, so her sudden declaration was a pleasant surprise. The hope in his voice made his reply come out in a pitch higher than he expected. "Really?"

She stood before him, adorable and almost girlish in her black leather jacket, jeans, and flats, with her hands stuffed in her back pockets. Her nearly black hair used to graze her shoulders when she wore it straight, but she'd let it grow a bit and now it reached down to her collarbone. She read his reaction with a contemplative face. "Wait," she said. "Not _that _tattoo. One for my mother."

Of course. She'd been more comfortable around the club lately, and Juice was grateful, but he should have known she was too reasonable to impulsively slap a crow on her body out of nowhere. It made sense that her first piece would be a tribute to her deceased mother. He nodded. "Cool. You got a design in mind or would you need Hap to draw one up?"

Kyra raised a brow. "Hap?" She was good at putting on a brave face when it came to SAMCRO, but when it came to Happy, she was open about how uncomfortable he made her. "That muthafucka looks crazy _as shit_," she'd always say. He couldn't necessarily blame her. If he was a chick, Happy would scare the shit out of him, too.

"Yeah, babe. Happy does most of our tats." Juice watched her face crinkle and had to swallow his laughter. "I'd be right there with you."

Her face relaxed. "It's the logo from my mother's salon," she said, fishing her Blackberry out of her purse. The design was a pair of open scissors with the words "Miss" and "Rhonda's" written in cursive letters, underlined by the scissors' blades.

"Where do you want it?" he asked.

She rolled up her right sleeve and pointed to the inside of her forearm, right below her wrist. "Right here. Not too big, so I can cover it with bracelets at work."

Juice held her wrist and caressed the spot with his thumb. Of course she wanted it there. A cute little tattoo in the daintiest place she could put it. It was good for a first piece, though. He looked up at her with a grin. "You're such a chick."

"And if I wasn't a chick, you'd be such a...?" she quipped.

Did the woman ever _not _have a comeback? "C'mon." He gave her ass a playful slap. "Get your ass inside so we can get you inked."

Juice held her hand and led her through the maze of scantily clad women, bikers, and wannabes. Her grip on his hand was loose and easy, but it tightened as they neared Happy who had pulled one of the tables into a corner and begun laying out his tools when they walked up. "Change of plans, Hap," Juice said. "I'm gonna let the little lady go first."

Happy cast his dark eyes over Juice's shoulder on to Kyra. "Crow?"

"Nah," Juice replied. "Memorial for her mom. It's small. Probably take less than an hour." He paused. "She's a first-timer."

A hint of amusement shone behind Happy's hard glare. "Lettin' me pop your girl's cherry, huh Juicy?"

They had to cut this shit out. Opie's girl sucked cock for a living when he hooked up with her and Juice didn't remember Ope getting as much shit from his brothers as he got for Kyra. "Hey, Hap?" he said, searching his brother's face, waiting for the former Nomad to meet his glare. "Chill out."

Juice released Kyra's hand, squared his shoulders, and cocked his head to the side. God knew he didn't want to end up in the ring with Hap's crazy ass, but rules were rules and Happy was getting dangerously close to crossing the line. Happy stared at him a moment, drilling into his face with his nearly black eyes and Juice prepared himself for the worst. And then a wide grin spread across Hap's face. "Aw shit, bro," he said, slapping Juice on the shoulder. "My bad."

_Thank fucking God_, Juice thought, mentally breathing out a huge sigh of relief. He turned to Kyra. "Hey babe, send the pic of your design to my email so I can print it out for Hap."

"Go to the bar and get yourself a few shots while you're at it, sweetheart," Hap growled. "I don't do sober first-timers..." He looked at Juice. "No disrespect."

They didn't stock the bar with any of the girly lightweight shit Kyra drank, so she ended up knocking back four shots of Patron before Happy started her tattoo. Juice sat in front of her, nursing a Budweiser, while Hap sat opposite her at the table, holding her delicate wrist in his fingertips as he traced the needle across her skin. The drinks pulled down a layer of her usual careful reserve to the point where she was almost chatty. Juice couldn't tell if she was trying to hold off the awkwardness of being handled by a man who scared her or distracting herself from the pain of the needle piercing her skin, but she entertained them with stories about growing up in Oakland. Every now and then, Hap would hit a tender spot and she'd hiss and clutch Juice's knee with her left hand.

She talked about her first fight, which happened on her first day of high school when a classmate had given her shit about "talkin' like a little white bitch" because she spoke proper English. She garnered a chuckle from Hap when she ended the story with "...I slapped that illiterate bitch in the face with my English book, too." As she spoke, he realized that he'd never heard these stories. He'd created her biography in his head based on the background check he ran on her when he first decided to pursue her, so it was nice to hear her fill in the missing pieces for him. It seemed that the origin of any fight she'd ever been in was an act of disrespect or someone "trying" her because she appeared so unassuming. Juice could see how someone could make that mistake. Even as she sat in the room full of rowdy bikers, there was an elegance about her. The little way she held her wrist out for Happy and sat upright with her ankles crossed off to the side. He'd never found those kind of subtleties attractive in a woman before, but with her, it was hot.

Juice was still studying her when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. "Somebody gettin' Crowed?" Clay inquired over him.

Kyra looked up at Clay and shook her head. "Nah, not yet. I'm new to the whole ink thing. Takin' baby steps."

Wait. Had she said "Not yet?" So she _did _eventually want a Crow tat. Juice couldn't hide his smile as he wondered where on her dark caramel canvas he'd stamp her. Clay interrupted his thoughts. "Hey Juice, talk to ya a minute?"

Juice looked at Kyra, who was checking Happy's progress with a careful eye. "You gonna be alright out here?"

"Only gonna be a few more minutes," Hap said, still in deep concentration.

Juice gave Kyra's knee an affectionate pat. "Be right back," he said and got up to follow Clay into the Chapel.

Clay was a large man, intimidating even with his age and physical restraints. He stood, perched against the Redwood table that sat in the middle of the room with his signature Stogie in his hand, and Juice wondered what the hell he'd screwed up that could warrant this kind of one-on-one. He stood in front of Clay and folded his arms, bracing himself for a reprimand. "Wassup, Clay?"

"Looks like things are goin' well with you and Neeta's niece," the President said, lighting his cigar.

_He pulled me in here to talk about my personal life. _"Um. Yeah," he answered with a slow nod. "I got no reason to complain."

"Good to hear." Clay reached into his cut and retrieved a white envelope. "Think takin' this home might put a smile on her face?"

_What the hell? _Juice thought, taking the envelope into his hands. He peaked inside at the contents and saw a stack of $100 bills. "What's this?"

"That's my gratitude," Clay answered. "You've stepped up in a big way since we've been home. Especially with our new business up north and helpin' us stay low profile around here with all this new law shit up our asses."

He'd done something right. He couldn't fucking believe it. Five years in SAMCRO as the club screw up and now he was finally getting shit right. "Clay, you don't have to-"

"Naw. You've earned it. Finally got your goddamn head on right and found some focus. Think of this as your pre-Christmas bonus. My way of sayin' 'Keep up the good work.'"

He'd changed in Stockton and not a day had gone by since he came home that he didn't notice the differences between the man he'd been when he went in and the one he was becoming. He'd never been reactive as much as just absent-minded and careless, but these days he felt more sure and found himself thinking more about things before he did them. He didn't know if this was a result of his relationship with Kyra or if the relationship was one of a few signs that he'd grown up, but either way, Juice was happy his brothers could see the change in him.

He thumbed the bills in the envelope. There had to be at least forty bills, and all of them appeared to be hundreds. Jesus Christ. Five-thousand dollars? He'd never received an envelope that thick before. He looked up at Clay. "Thank you, brother."

Clay opened his arms and the two men shared a brief hug, each patting the other on the back. "Like I said, you earned it. Go buy that pretty girl of yours somethin' nice."

Juice stepped back into common room, where Kyra was wrapping her wrist with Saran Wrap. He picked up her hand to study Happy's work. Her skin was still red from irritation, but the piece came out exactly like the picture she'd shown him. He liked that the design and its placement was so true to her personality; it was feminine but more meaningful than the generic flowers and butterflies tats he saw on a lot women. "You like it?"

She ran a careful index finger over her mother's name and smiled. "Yeah," she almost whispered. "I love it. What do you think? Am I 'badass' enough for you now that I've got ink?"

_You're already everything enough for me_, he thought. God, that sounded gay, even if it was about his old lady. He winked at her. "Almost." Around them, the party revved up, with topless dancers taking their stations on the stripper poles as the music got louder. "Why don't you head home?" he said. "Hap's gettin' started on my Reaper tonight so I'm gonna be awhile."

"Okay, babe," Kyra said, leaning up for a good-bye kiss. "See you when you get home."

_Home_. She'd said it before a million times in reference to the apartment, but maybe it was the $5,000 he had in his pocket that gave it a new ring. He'd been kicking out cash for groceries since he'd been there, and though he could more than afford to increase his contribution, she'd never asked. With things looking up for him in SAMCRO, he was ready to step up and be a real provider for her. He was a man, after all. And that's what men did.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Kyra_**

Kyra felt like she was drowning. Locked away in her spare bedroom that Juice had turned into her unofficial study room, she was sprawled out on the floor surrounded by Becker books, index cards, and highlighters. She sat in the midst of the chaos, dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, with her hair pulled back into a haphazard ponytail, devouring information on pension laws and regulations. She was due to take her CPA exam in two months, and she'd be shocked if she didn't have a head full of grey hair by that time. There was a lot on the line for her with this test. Elliot had told her that passing would put her on the fast track to a position in accounting, which meant a bigger salary and eventually buying a townhouse so that she could stop throwing away money on rent every month.

Owning a home. The thought reminded her of her mother, which reminded her of her new tattoo. She smiled at the cursive letters and read the words out loud. "Miss Rhonda's." It held a double meaning for her. She was her mother's child, so the possessive was accurate, but also, everything she achieved in life would be the result of her mother's hard work, hence adding the salon's full logo. She'd never figured herself for the tattoo type, but looking down at the little tribute made her feel closer to her mother.

She was even considering getting the Crow tattoo for Juice, but was still wrestling with how illogical of a move it was. They'd been together less than a year. It wasn't by any means the smart thing to do, but then again, moving in with an outlaw biker after dating for a few months in the first place wasn't logical, but seemed to be working out just fine.

Kyra turned her attention back to her studies and just when she thought her eyes would cross, she heard a knock on the closed bedroom door. "You busy?" Juice called from the other side.

She rubbed her temples, happy for a momentary distraction. "I'm about due for a break. You can come in."

The door opened and the smell of Axe body wash and shaving gel filled the room. He must have been fresh out of the shower. He was dressed in his usual uniform of a skull T-shirt, cargo jeans and black army boots, with his gun holster slung over his broad shoulders. He nodded toward her books. "How's it goin' in here?"

She slammed her Becker's book shut. "I think I'm done for a few hours. You headed out?"

He pulled her desk chair from the corner and sat down in front of her. "Yeah. It's gonna be a long day. Gotta take care of some club stuff and then Hap's gonna work on my tat some more." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded white envelope. "Wanted to give you this before I left."

She didn't have to touch it to know it was money. And she'd seen enough to know that any cash that came wadded up in white envelopes had a suspicious source. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked inside. God. It was a wad of $100 bills. "Why are you giving me this?"

Kyra looked up and Juice was beaming, even moreso than his usual easy going grin. "It's for you. I know we never officially talked about money, but if I'm gonna live here I wanna help out."

"But we did talk about money," she said, pulling the bills out of the envelope. "I thought we agreed that you'd just pay for groceries and I'd take care of everything else?" She looked down at the cash. _This is at least $5,000_. She stuffed it back into the envelope and gave it back to him. "I don't need this."

Juice frowned. "What do you mean you don't need it?"

"I mean exactly what I said. Even if we split everything right down the middle, this is way more than monthly living expenses and besides, I took care of everything just fine before you started staying here. I don't need this now."

His brows knitted as he leaned back in the chair. "I know you don't _need_ it, but I want you to have it. I'm your man, Kyra. I want to help take care of you."

Jesus, why did he have to start with this shit? Hadn't things been working just fine as they were? With him doing whatever he did outside of her house and letting her take care of the rest? Had she ever asked him for anything or given him any indication that she was the kind of woman who accepted large, unexplainable amounts of money? She had a degree in accounting, for Christ's sake. He had to know she was smarter than this. She ran her hand over her mouth and sighed. "Look, Juice. I grew up seeing shit like this everyday: girls comin' into the shop, flashin' their drug dealer boyfriends' cash. And those same dumb bitches were the ones who ended up havin' all their pretty Benzes seized by the IRS. Do what you want with that, but don't ride in here offering it to me like it's some kinda prize. I don't want that kind of care.'"

Juice jumped out of the chair. "So what the fuck am I supposed to do, Kyra?" he boomed. "Sleep here, eat here, and fuck you on some free ride like a goddamned gigolo?"

_Oh my God, why is he trippin' like this?_ "Dude, what the fuck are you talkin' about?" she shouted. "The money you give me for food is fine. All I'm sayin' is why can't we just do what we've been doing? Why the fuck is this even an argument?"

"Because you knew what you signed up for when we started all this. _You_ said you were okay with the club shit. I didn't force any of this on you…" He paused and Kyra swore that she saw some kind of revelation flash over his face. "Wait, I get it. It's okay when I'm threatening to kill some shithead to keep your ass safe, but my money is too _dirty_ for you? So I'm supposed to just stay here and live off dead mommy's six figure inheritance with you and get rid of the bad guys like a fuckin' guard dog."

_Dead mommy_. The words pushed her legs off of the floor and she charged across the room until she was standing right under his nose. Every inch of her skin burned. "Muthafucka don't you _ever in your life_ talk about my mother like that—" And then she realized exactly what he'd said. Six figure inheritance. The only people who knew how much money her mother left her were Neeta and her mother's attorney. She scanned her memory in vain, searching for a moment where she may have shared that knowledge with him, but she knew there wasn't one. As a rule, she never discussed her money. The anger that surged through her body was replaced with a sense of dread. How the fuck did he know about the inheritance? "Wait a minute, what did you just say?" she asked in a voice so eerily calm that it shocked her.

"You heard me," he barked back. "I said I didn't force any of this—"

Kyra stepped back into the room. "No, no, no. After that. What you said about my inheritance. Where'd that come from?"

She watched his face and in seconds his eyes went from angry to confused to nervous. "Wha-what do you mean where'd it come from?" he stuttered. "You told me your mom left you money."

He was busted. For what, Kyra didn't know, but she knew that she'd caught him in a lie. And he knew it. She shook her head. "No, Juan. I didn't. So I'll ask you again: _where the fuck did that come from_?"

Juice turned his back and walked out toward the living room and she was hot on his heels. What the hell had he done? Opened her mail? Why? And why was he acting so suspicious about it? "Oh, so you gon' act like I didn't just ask you a question?"

They were in the living room now. He stood in the center of the room, running his hands over his Mohawk with a pained expression on his face. Whatever he'd done to find out about the inheritance, he didn't want to tell her, which led Kyra to believe it was bad. She planted her feet and folded her arms. "Do not make me ask you again, Juan."

Juice cast his eyes to the ceiling before settling them down on his feet. "I looked into some of your shit awhile ago," he mumbled.

Looked into some of her shit? What the hell did that mean? And how long ago was awhile? And what exactly had he found? "You looked into _what_?"

His eyes stayed down as he reached up and rubbed his neck. He let out a heavy sigh before looking up at her face. "Just some background shit," he said with a shrug. "It's really not a big deal."

"No, no, no," Kyra shook her hand. "You don't get to tell me how big of a deal this is. _What_ background shit? And how did you get it?"

"What I do, for the club—" he started. "I hack databases. Before me and you hooked up, I umm…I looked you up—"

She'd known he was a hacker. It was why he'd been kicked out of Cal Tech, so his ability to get into high security databases wasn't a shocker. The fact that he'd hacked into her private information sent her through the roof. "You did WHAT? Why?"

His shoulders slumped in defeat. "I had to know if you were who you said you were," he all but whispered.

Kyra's heart pounded in her ears. She couldn't believe this shit. He'd known everything about her from the very beginning and spent the last five months pretending that he didn't? She looked up at the ceiling and exhaled, hoping that the action would bring about some sense of calm. It didn't. "So let me get this straight," she started, sitting down on the couch. "I want to know something about you, and I have to tap dance and tiptoe around the question and just _pray_ I'm lucky enough to get a straight answer. You wanna know something about me and you can go _behind my back_ and get all your questions answered? And _then_ live in my house and smile in my face like it never happened? Is that how this works?"

"Kyra, I had to. For the club—"

"No!" she shouted, leaping from the couch and he stepped back a little. She was in his face, so close that she could actually see the sweat trickling down his forehead. He had that same clueless expression he'd had the day he'd fucked up her dishwasher. Then, it was kind of cute. Today, it made her want to smack him. "No. Don't you _dare_ give me that club bullshit! You didn't sit in my face and fucking _lie_ to me for the last five months for the club." She stopped a moment and her voice got calm again. "The premise of all this," she waved her hands in front of him, "is trust, right? I'm supposed to trust you and trust your club with my safety, hell with my _life_, correct?"

Juice nodded. "Yeah."

"Right. So tell me how_ THE FUCK_ I do that, knowing that you can live under my roof, look me in my face every fucking day, and lie to me? Huh? How does that shit work?" Kyra didn't realize the weight of the words until they'd left her mouth. He'd lied to her. Every single day. For five months.

And then she felt it. The familiar sensation of heat rising from her toes to the very top of her head, ready to explode. Her knuckles tingled and angry tears burned the back of her eyes. She was going to hit him, punch him square in his fucking jaw. She blinked and swallowed hard, willing the reaction away. "Get out," she growled.

She couldn't read the emotions on his face, because all she saw was red. She prayed he didn't try to stutter out some ridiculous explanation because she didn't know how long she could keep herself in check. She blinked again and when she opened her eyes, she saw the question on his face and answered his thoughts. This time, her voice more steady and human. "You heard me. Get the fuck out of my house. Now."


	9. Chapter 9

_**Juice**_

Juice couldn't stand to sit at the bar in the clubhouse and drown his sorrows. Didn't want to field the questions about why he looked so pissed off. So after returning from a quick run to Oakland with Tig and Clay, he grabbed a bottle of Cuervo Gold and retreated back to his dorm room. He'd wait there until Happy got back to work on his Reaper.

He didn't know whether to hate her or hate himself. That was the thought that went through his head when he took his first sip. He'd left Kyra's place in a bit of a daze, completely confused about what had happened. Hadn't it started out so well? With him ready to commit to her in a real way by taking some of the financial responsibility for the space they shared? She was supposed to be happy about that. Instead she'd gone on one of those angry black women tangents that chicks picked up from watching too much Oprah or Angela Bassett or whatever the fuck they watched. All that "independent-I-don't-need-a-man" bullshit had given him a headache. And plus she was a goddamned hypocrite; acting like she wasn't living off of someone else's hard-earned money already. Ungrateful bitch was what she was and he'd been getting ready to call her just that when he'd let it slip that he knew about her inheritance.

And that was why he hated himself. Because as usual, he'd done something totally stupid to erase whatever credibility he was trying to build for himself. Not only was he an idiot, she now thought he was a liar, which was the last thing he fucking needed. He'd seen that shit play out with Donna before she died; always questioning Opie and not trusting the club. He didn't have the time or energy to constantly reassure her. Why couldn't she see that he had to do what he did? His life was complicated as it was without wondering if his woman was some kind of undercover fed. He had reasons, in the form off five years in the life and fourteen months behind bars, to not trust anyone he met.

The look on her face. He tried to drown out that memory with the bottle of Cuervo, but it stood sharper in his mind with every sip. He was so used to watching her brief emotional reactions play out in her eyes, that the outburst of anger shocked the hell out of him. She was downright crazy, screaming at him one minute and then quietly seething the next. And her eyes. Right before she'd told him to get out for the last time; he watched them go from burning to the kind of calm rage that he only saw from serial killers in movies. She'd almost had him ready to apologize, or at least put up a valiant effort to make her shut up so he could state his case and then she'd told him to leave. He didn't even know if "Get out" meant for good, or just for the night. He'd wanted to ask but when that "get the fuck out of my house" flew out of her mouth, he was done. She'd said "MY house" like he was a fucking guest and it just reminded him of why he was pissed in the first place. He didn't want to be around her anymore than she wanted to be around him.

Juice hadn't been in a real argument with a woman since before he was patched; back when he decided to prospect and Emily, his then-girlfriend, decided that she couldn't be with an outlaw. "Like, really? You're aspiring to be a criminal? What am I supposed to do in the meantime?" she'd asked. But his mind was made up. The club had voted and he was in. He'd only come back to their apartment to pick up a few things to take back to the clubhouse with him. He told her she could do whatever she wanted. No way was she cut out to be an old lady, and Juice knew it. She'd thought he'd just keep working at the garage while she waited tables down at Lumpy's, and they'd get married and move in a pretty house on the outskirts of Charming, where he'd live paycheck to paycheck and die a slow, dull death. That wasn't going to happen. The breakup wasn't anywhere near a knock-down-drag-out. It was more or less a formality: Emily asked him to choose her or SAMCRO, knowing that he'd already made his choice when he walked in wearing his Prospect cut.

With Kyra, it'd been different. He'd actually believed she was cut out for the life and picked her for that reason. After years of living like a big kid in the clubhouse, he came to her ready to be a man and hold down a house. Why couldn't she just let him? Her words played on repeat in his mind: _How can I trust you knowing you can look me in my face and lie to me?_ Like he'd cheated or told some malicious lie. Like she hadn't seen how far he was willing to go to protect her with her own two eyes. She'd been so good to him, and so good for him. All he wanted to do was show her his gratitude, but no, she was too busy playing Superwoman to see it. _But you know what? Fuck her_, he thought, downing the last corner of his Cuervo. _And fuck me for thinking I wouldn't find a way to fuck this up, just like I do everything else._

**_Kyra_**

She'd never been the one for sappy break-up shit; not even with Rico, who was supposedly the "love" of her young life. Kyra clung to him out of need, knowing all along that they'd be temporary. Sure, she'd shed a few tears when it was over, but there was no lying around in his T-shirts or listening to the songs that reminded her of him. She'd already lost her mother. Losing a man that she knew always belonged to someone else didn't really count as a "loss" in her book. Just some more shit that had happened in an all-around shitty year that she'd eventually get over.

And the guys in Sacramento? They'd been faceless toys, really. Pretty things she pulled out of her cell phone when she needed a proper fucking or temporary companionship. She knew their game. They were "rare finds": educated, professional black men all supposedly in search of a Michelle Obama/Claire Huxtable hybrid trophy wife, while plowing through every desperate "I have this degree now where's my Barack?" black woman in the city in the meantime. They liked her because she "had her shit together," and didn't pressure them about commitment. Little did they know that she didn't pressure them because she really didn't give a shit; just needed something to occupy her time between school and work at the bank. She never really "broke up" with any of them. They just drifted off into relationships with girls who spoiled them with wife privileges before securing a proper commitment, leaving Kyra to go on with life as if they'd never existed.

When she thought about it, Juice was the first man to ever really piss her off. After her scuffle with Rico's wife all of those years ago, she'd learned to keep her temper in check. Leaving Oakland for Sacramento had played a large part in that, since she didn't need to knock bitches out in college in order to make them respect her. Gemma had come close to reawakening Kyra's angry side, but even that had been more of a mind fuck than an actual threat. Juice, on the other hand, had wedged his way completely under her skin: first by disrespecting her mother's memory and then by disrespecting her privacy.

Disrespect. That had always been the offense that led to her unraveling. And now, instead of crying and listening to Mary J. Blige like most girls would do after a fight with their men, Kyra was at a shooting range halfway between Charming and Oakland, blowing holes into a paper man, who as far as she was concerned, had a Mohawk and two stupid tattoos on the sides of his head. As much as she loved feel of the 9mm Glock rumbling in her palm with each shot, she still couldn't blast away the anger that brewed beneath her surface. She'd never dealt with betrayal of this magnitude before; hadn't ever let anybody get close enough to affect her this way and she hated it. Hated losing her cool and feeling so out of control.

Kyra knew there'd be things to deal with when she got home. She'd have to change her sheets, because her bed smelled like him. She'd have to put away all of his shit so that it wasn't out in the open, ready to remind her of his absence. And eventually, she'd have to address the question gnawing at the back of her mind: was she done with Juan Carlos Ortiz for good?

But all that could wait. For the moment she still had eight rounds to empty into paper Juice's head.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Kyra**_

Two days. No phone calls. No texts. Kyra preferred it that way. She had no idea what she'd say to him if they actually spoke. She didn't want to hear a half-assed apology and couldn't wrap her mind around an explanation for his actions that would satisfy her. She knew where he was: at the clubhouse, more than likely knee deep in redneck pussy, trying to pound away his feelings. Goddamn men. They were so typical. Even with all of Juice's sweet doting, she held no illusions about who or what he was. She'd seen more upstanding men cheat for less. He was an outlaw with a bruised ego, so he was bound to land in some random vagina. That thought alone was enough for her to want him to stay away; at least until he'd had a round of STD tests or popped some antibiotics. No telling what kind of nasty shit got passed around that clubhouse.

_Do I want him back at all?_ The question still plagued her by sunrise Monday morning when she woke up to get ready for work. She glanced over at his side of her walk-in closet while she decided what to wear. She still didn't know the answer to that question. As pissed as she was, she couldn't deny that he'd been wonderful to her; better than anyone she'd ever been with. Sure, that didn't say a whole lot since the only other man she'd ever really cared for was married, but still. He'd been affectionate, caring, supportive, and protective from the very beginning. And though he was an occasional goofball, he had an uncanny ability to see beyond her cool front and know when she needed to actually say what she felt. Granted, he rarely knew what to say in response, but sometimes just saying the words was enough. His general demeanor, so light and good-natured, made her look forward to coming home; knowing there was finally a person with whom she could let down her guard and just be.

And then there was the club; the ragtag group of crazy ass white folks who treated her more and more like family as the days passed. Tara had actually become a real friend, which Kyra hadn't had since she left Oakland. But then again, the club was part of the problem, because Juice seemed to think that patch gave him the right to do whatever the fuck he wanted, while making her live by some ridiculous "old lady code:" _Don't ask too many questions, know your place at the clubhouse, while I do whatever the fuck I want and use SAMCRO as an excuse._ No, that shit couldn't fly. Kyra had no problem respecting rules, but bullshit was bullshit, and dressing it up with a cut and a promise of protection didn't change that.

And what about his money demands? What made him think he had the right to dictate how she handled her finances? Even if she was living off of her mother's inheritance, which she wasn't, who the fuck was he to demand that she do otherwise? Her mother had taught her better than that. She hadn't touched that inheritance money in years; instead she'd invested it in money market accounts and stocks with consistent returns. She only lived on what she earned and didn't splurge on stupid shit like handbags and shoes. She'd busted her ass and taken meticulous measures to remain financially stable and Juice thought she was supposed to toss all of that caution aside to make him feel like a man? He could stay at the clubhouse if he expected her to be that stupid.

As she drove the bending roads between her apartment and Oswald Industries, Kyra asked herself what she thought would happen once she and Juice moved in together. They never talked about the specifics. It made sense, at the time, since he was there so much, for him to just stay with her. She damn sure didn't want him living at the clubhouse with all those thirsty tricks roaming the halls, but she hadn't thought about it any further than that; didn't know exactly what kind of future she wanted with Juice. It was unlike her to not sit down and weigh all of that before allowing him into her space. She'd been so busy worrying about adjusting to all the club shit that the practical, everyday concerns had gone right over her head. God, had she really been in that much of a dick-induced daze two months ago to not think about this shit? Maybe it was better that Juice stay away for awhile. Clearly, she had more to think about than just their fight.

The fight. That fucking fight. She couldn't believe she was even having this debate with herself. Juice was a fucking liar; had been throughout the duration of their entire relationship. What the fuck was there to consider? Even if she did figure out all the rest of the particulars, how could she trust him after this? What other kind of shit would he keep from her? _Cut your losses and go on about your business, Kyra_, she thought as she walked into the office, but she knew it wasn't that simple.

The work day crawled along at a maddening pace. It seemed like the office had gone on a vacation without her knowledge, because the phones barely rang. Kyra sat at her cubicle in front of Elliot's office, and discretely went over her Becker's flashcards under a stack of files. Elliot was out, meeting with lawyers about a land deal with Mayor Hale, and wouldn't be back until late afternoon. If she had to be at the office while things were so slow, she could at least be productive in some way. Plus, the flashcards kept her mind from wandering back into Juiceland. She sat, her legs crossed with the flash cards in her lap, until she felt an unbearable itching beneath her bangles. Shit. Her tattoo. With everything going on, she'd slipped on its maintenance. It was probably overdue for a cleaning and ointment application. She hated to do it at work, but the itching would drive her nuts if she didn't take care of it, so she reluctantly left her desk to go to the restroom.

"Can you believe Little Miss Ghetto Fabulous?" Kyra heard as she opened the door to the restroom.

"I know," another voice answered. "Walking around here like she's so high and mighty, meanwhile she's just another SAMCRO biker whore. She's probably a criminal just like her little boyfriend."

Kyra stopped dead in her tracks. She couldn't make out the first voice, but she registered the second one as Debbie, the bitch she and Juice ran into at Walmart a couple of weeks ago. She wasn't surprised. Charming was too small, too damned backwoods for people to be as charming behind closed doors as they were to her face. Any other day, she might have let the comment go, but she was already on edge; burdened by her shit with Juice. What the fuck was going on the in the Universe this week? Why was everyone around her tap dancing on her last goddamn nerve? _Ghetto fabulous, huh? _These bitches had no idea.

"Good morning, ladies," she chirped as she approached the middle sink between Debbie and Cynthia, a lanky brunette who worked in accounting. The two women looked back at her innocently. Apparently, they were going to pretend they hadn't said anything. "Kyra," Cynthia answered flatly, sweeping one of her brunette locks out of her face before turning to walk away. "I'll see you at lunch, Deb."

Kyra, no longer concerned with hiding her ink, sat her antibacterial soap and ointment on the counter before rolling up her right sleeve. "No, Cynthia, you should stick around. Don't let Little Miss Ghetto Fabulous interrupt your chat. I'll just be a minute."

Both women's eyes grew wide; their facial expressions almost identical to the one on Juice's face two days ago. Kyra almost laughed. "You know, I'm still getting used to the Charming brand of hospitality," she said, her eyes trained on her wrist as she rubbed it with soap. "You guys are just so _neighborly_ here. Everybody knows everything about everyone. I guess I have to adjust to strangers being so concerned about me, you know?"

Kyra looked up into the mirror, meeting both of their nervous glares. "See I grew up in a very rough neighborhood, and staying safe depending largely on staying to myself. Like say for instance, Debbie, that I lived next door to you and I thought you may be running with some scary people. Where I'm from, it would be in my best interest to keep that information to myself. After all, what if my assumption is wrong and I'm spreading lies about my neighbor? Or what if," she said, turning to face Debbie, "I'm right? And you _are_ mixed up with a bad element? That would mean you're the kind of person I wouldn't want to piss off. You know?"

Debbie blinked and swallowed hard, "What are you saying, Kyra?"

"Well, this is Charming, so what would happen in Oakland is neither here nor there," Kyra answered, rubbing ointment on her wrist. "Besides, my guy's just a mechanic who likes to ride his Harley with his friends. But for future reference, ladies: until who I'm fucking affects my ability to answer phones and schedule appointments, I'd prefer if you didn't discuss my personal life in the office. It's just…tacky," she placed her ointment and soap back in her purse, "and a little unprofessional, no?"

Cynthia spoke up first. "We're really sorry, Kyra. Just a little office gossip, right? No harm, no foul?"

Kyra locked eyes with the brunette and stared just long enough to make the woman nervous. "None whatsoever. You ladies enjoy the rest of your day." She strutted out of the restroom and back toward her desk. She'd just threatened her coworkers. It was a cleverly veiled threat, but a threat nonetheless. She didn't even have to wonder what had gotten into her_. Ugh_, she thought as she sat down_. This asshole is makin' me lose my gotdamn mind._


	11. Chapter 11

**_Juice _**

Three days passed, each blending seamlessly into the other. If it wasn't for the lack of clean clothes and the almost-finished tattoo on his back, Juice could have believed that no time had passed since he left Kyra's. But no, 75% of his back was covered in ink and he was staring at a small pile of underwear and T-shirts in the corner of his dorm room. They were things left over from before he moved in with Kyra. He liked having a spare set of clothes and boxers at the clubhouse, just in case, but now he'd blown through his extras and would need more clothes. He could either go to Kyra's and grab some more stuff or petition one of the sweetbutts to do his laundry.

He didn't even know if he was angry at Kyra anymore. He was annoyed by the inconvenience of being away, but he still had no idea what to say to her or if it is was his job to make it right or hers. It hit him that morning when he woke up needing an extra pair of hands to clean the middle of his tattoo, that he missed her. He could almost feel her slender fingers, carefully massaging soap into his skin and gently patting it dry. The thought of her hands on his body turned him, and he shook his head. No point thinking about her. He'd been gone three days and she hadn't called; didn't text. She was at least mad enough to hold her silence so he didn't want to call her and ask about his stuff; mainly because he didn't want to have another argument. His head had just stopped spinning from Saturday afternoon and he didn't want to disturb the peace if he didn't have to.

Juice ventured out of his room and into the common room. There had to be someone out there who could take care of his clothes. There were a few girls hanging out around the pool table and he spotted a familiar face among the crowd. Darcy. She'd been the last girl he was with before Kyra. She was a short blonde who was holding on to what used to be an hour glass figure for dear life. _It's a shame how these chicks age_, Juice thought, looking at her. If he remembered correctly, she was the same age as Jax, making her about five years older than him, but her badly bleached hair and ill-fitting clothes made her look about forty. Not necessarily unattractive, just worn in the way that a lot of women in the life were. She made up for it, though, because she could suck the nails out of a board. "Hey Darcy," he called over to her.

Her eyes lit up. "Hey cutie," she said, speaking with the same subtle East Coast drawl he occasionally slipped into. Darcy strolled over to him, the promise of satisfaction written all over her face. "What can I do for ya?"

_With those lips? A lot._Juice thought. Shit. Fuck. No. He came out here to get his laundry done. "Small favor—"

Darcy eyed his crotch. "_Small _don't sound like my kinda favor, baby."

"I…uh…" Wait. Why was he hesitant? Kyra kicked him out three days ago and hadn't called. He let his eyes dance over Darcy's body. Damn. He was too spoiled by Kyra's tight but well-curved frame to be turned on by Darcy's softer, less-defined curves. Her mouth, on the other hand? Well, that would get the job done just fine. Juice cocked his head and grinned. "Actually, make that _two_favors…"

As soon as Darcy left, Juice remembered exactly why he'd wanted to an old lady. The Crow Eater shit was old. It'd been all good while Darcy blew him, and he enjoyed the familiar twinge of satisfaction that could only come from blasting one in the face of a willing woman. But then she'd licked the mess away with a quick flick of her tongue and said "Why don't you let me catch the next one between my other lips?" Fuck. He hated this part. It was too much work to summon the coldness necessary to tell her she had to go. "Sorry, but I got some shit to take care of. Gonna have to take a rain check," he lied. She'd pouted, but not before dutifully picking up the pile of laundry on her way out. Okay. So maybe not _everything_about Crow Eaters was old to him, but the awkward post-coital moment was enough to turn his mind toward what he missed at home.

_Too bad that's not your home, shithead_, he thought and whatever brief post-orgasm euphoria he'd felt disappeared as if Darcy had never been in the room. Fuck. He needed a drink. He scanned his room and found nothing but empties. He'd have to raid the bar again. He was back in his room, staring down into a bottle of Jameson when someone knocked on his door. Dammit. He hoped it wasn't Darcy. He wasn't in the mood to come up with another reason why he couldn't fuck her. "Yeah?" he called.

"It's Gemma. Open up."

Juice threw his head back and sighed. _Why?_ The only person he wanted to talk to _less_than Darcy was Gemma. He dragged himself out of bed to unlock the door. "It's kind of a bad time," he said, peaking his head out.

"Unless you're in there with your dick in your hands, you're not doin' anything that can't wait. Let me in."

He hung his head. He was _so _not in the mood for this, but he knew better than to think she would let up. Besides, he didn't have the energy to do battle with yet another woman. "By all means, come in then," he quipped, pulling the door wide open.

Gemma marched by him and sniffed. "Jesus Christ. Smells like a goddamn distillery in here. Next time you entertain one of those tarts, tell her to bring a sponge and a bucket."

He shook his head and she sat down in the recliner opposite the bed. "What can I do for you, Gem?"

She waved a hand in front of her nose. "Well first, you can open a window. Then you can have a seat."

He obeyed and flopped back down on the bed and pulled a joint from his pocket. "Smoke?" he offered.

"l'll pass. I don't know _where _your mouth was ten minutes ago."

Juice snorted and lit the joint. "So wassup?"

She cocked her head. "_Wassup _is that you've spent the last three nights here. Trouble in paradise?"

He took a long pull. "Something like that."

"Is it over?"

Juice exhaled and found her eyes through the smoke. "I don't know. Takin' a breather for now, I guess." He looked up and Gemma's eyes were burning a hole through him. He hadn't been through this kind of interrogation since that bitch Stahl had tried to get him to turn in county infirmary. He thought it didn't get more intense than getting grilled by a psycho bitch fed while recovering from a stab wound, but this exchange with Gemma looked like it would run a close second.

She leaned forward. "So what's the problem?"

He'd let the thoughts pile up in the back of his mind, just like his laundry. Now his entire head was a mess and he didn't know how or where to start sorting through it all. _She's a stubborn, selfish bitch. I'm a goddamn idiot. She doesn't trust me to do anything: take care of her, tell her the truth. I fucking hate her. I wanna go home. But _we _never had a home. It's hers. And she doesn't want me there. And I don't wanna be there if it can't be _ours. _And none of this shit matters because I haven't even spoken to her since I left._ Fuck. He didn't feel like talking about this. "It's complicated, Gem."

"Damn. Somebody must've screwed up big time. Your mouth's usually runnin' like a goddamn faucet," Gemma stood up and looked around. "I'm guessing your shit's still at her place?"

Juice nodded.

She smirked and shook her head. "Well, if you wanted out, or if _she_ wanted you out, you'd be out. My advice? Go home and fix it. Nothing good comes from dragging shit out."

_Home._ There was that word again. He scoffed. "Not my home. It's hers. I was just crashin'."

"Let me explain something to you. I don't know what's going on with you and Kyra, but I _do_ know this: no woman signs up for all _this_ and takes the kinda shit I dish out, unless she's playing for keeps. You don't have keys to her place so you can _crash_." Gemma folded her arms and continued to stare a hole into his head. "This spat. Is it about club shit?"

She was going to pull some kind of explanation out of him whether he liked it or not. Shit. _How the fuck does Clay live with this everyday?_ "No," Juice responded, finally defeated. "It's trust, Gemma. She doesn't trust me."

Gemma leaned against the door, her arms still folded. "You do something to break that trust?"

He sighed. "No." Kyra didn't trust him to begin with. If she did, she would have taken his money. But fuck. That wasn't why she'd put him out. He was sleeping at the clubhouse because he'd kept a secret from her. "Yeah. I did."

"Well, that's no good. Kyra's a smart girl. She thinks too much to blindly follow you around like some patch-hungry Crow Eater. You can't ask her to accept her place in this club if you can't tell her the truth."

Juice took a long pull from his joint. Was the weed affecting his hearing? Not only was Gemma _defending _Kyra, but she was basically reiterating her exact words. Either he was crazy or Gemma had brought Kyra further along than he realized. "Wait a minute. So you're defending her? I thought you hated Kyra."

"I don't _hate_ her," she started. "Me giving her shit isn't personal. It's me doing my job. Making sure she can handle her responsibilities as part of this club. And this isn't me _defending_ her. It's me looking out for you and telling you how to keep your old lady in line. You screwed up? Then pull your head out of your ass and go fix it."

"Yeah, Gemma," he replied with a nod. "Okay."

The dorm room door closed behind Gemma and Juice laid back on the bed. When he opened his mouth and blew smoke toward the ceiling, he got a sense of déjà vu. He'd lived this moment before. It was the day he'd first met Kyra; right after he'd put Darcy out of his room and realized that he was ready for an old lady. Someone who'd love the club, but love him more and comfort him when shit hit the fan. God, Kyra was all that and more: beautiful, smart, sexy, tough. _That_ was why he ran the background check in the first place, because as soon as she showed a spark of interest, he'd felt like she could be the one. And she'd made him better; given him a sense of responsibility and focus that he'd never felt before.

Now, here he has, five months later and it looked like nothing had changed. He was back in this room, smoking, staring up at the ceiling after fucking around with the same tired ass Crow Eater. Damn, he'd fucked this up big time. But maybe Gemma was right. Sure, he hadn't heard from Kyra but maybe no news was good news. Juice sat up an snuffed out his joint with a heavy sigh. He had no idea _how_ he'd do it, but he had to pull his shit together and fix this.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Kyra_**

Kyra sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her Blackberry. She woke up to two text messages that morning. The first from Tara, reminding her that they were scheduled to go check out Opie and Lyla's new house at eleven. The second was from Juice. A simple "Can we talk?"

She didn't know how to answer either message. With everything that had happened, she wasn't sure she was up for wedding planning with SAMCRO women, especially since she wasn't sure how much longer she'd be one of them. She'd be forced to put on a cool face, at least for the day, and she wasn't sure she was capable of that at the moment. Seeing Juice's name pop up in her Blackberry that morning pushed a button, and suddenly, she felt the void created by his absence. She'd rolled over, and buried her face in one of the pillows on his side of the bed, and laid there for twenty minutes. God, she _missed_ him. She'd spent the last four days pushing that thought away with her anger over his betrayal, but the mere sight of his name reminded her _why_ she was so angry: she loved him.

_Can we talk?_ Kyra repeated the words again and again in her mind, hoping she'd find a clue about his intentions. He hadn't said a word to her in four days, nor had he prefaced his request with an apology. He still owed her that much, whether she missed him or not. She looked up at the clock next to the bed, realized she'd spent an hour staring off into space, and sighed. She'd asked Elliot for the day off last week to help Lyla with wedding stuff. Even if the idea alone exhausted her, it'd be better than sitting around her apartment driving herself insane over a text message. She text Tara, letting her know that she'd be ready by 10:30, and pushed herself off of the bed.

"You okay?" were the first words out of Tara's mouth when Kyra got in the Cutlass.

"I'm good," she replied, pulling down the passenger visor to check her face in the mirror. "Why? Do I look like something's wrong?"

"Well, you look a little out of it," Tara answered.

Kyra shook her head. "Oh. Just work stuff. Plus I'm still studying for my CPA, so I'm a little stressed. What's up with you, Superwoman?"

"You know, baby on my hip, toddler at the ankle, scalpel in one hand, and Jax in the other," Tara said with a smile, "the usual."

Kyra felt the corners of her mouth almost turn up. It was the first hint of a smile she'd shown in days. "Now why are checking out this house again?"

"Well, Lyla's been on Ope about getting a new house. He finally agreed, but told her she couldn't have the house _and_ the beach wedding. So, they're doing the wedding at the house before they move their stuff in."

"Can't say I blame her for not wanting to live in Donna's house anymore."

Tara nodded. "Right. Plus I think it's kinda sweet; them starting their life together in the new house."

_And here I talked shit about how they got together,_ Kyra thought as she stared out of the window. _At least their shit's _working _right now._ "Yeah. Sweet."

Ten minutes later, the ladies pulled up to a sage and white bungalow near the Charming and Lodi border. Both Lyla's Prius and Gemma's Caddy were parked across the street. Kyra was impressed. The only decent real estate she'd seen in Charming was the new developments the Mayor brought to the town. She didn't know that attractive, semi-modern houses existed within its borders. _I'd probably buy a house in this area_, she thought as she got out of the car. "Pretty nice," she said with an appreciative nod.

"Isn't it?" Tara replied. "Jax and I are looking to move within the next year. Probably should look out here."

"Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing."

Tara raised a hopeful brow. "You and Juice thinking about buying a house?"

Why did she have to say his name? Kyra's thoughts immediately went to the still unanswered text message in her phone. "No time soon," she answered. It wasn't a lie. She wasn't thinking about doing _anything_ with Juice any time soon, least of all purchase a house. "Once I become an accountant, I plan to buy though."

After they rang the doorbell, a smiling Lyla greeted them on the other side of the door. Her long blond hair flowed in its usual soft wave. Her face, which was normally pleasant yet somber, glowed with the giddy anticipation of a bride-to-be whose fiancé had just bought her an adorable little house. "Welcome!" she chirped.

"Oh wow," Tara returned her smile. "Someone's excited."

Lyla's ringed left hand went to her cheek. "Am I that obvious?"

Kyra nodded. "Yeah. Just a little."

"Well come in. Let me give you all a quick tour, and then we can sit down and go over the details."

The four women did a quick lap around the house. It was nothing fancy; a two story with three bedrooms, just enough room for Lyla, Opie, and their kids. Lyla was clearly more enthusiastic about what the house symbolized: a fresh start with some domestic normality. It all just seemed so easy for her: falling into Opie's world and letting him take care of her this way. She knew that Lyla tended bar a few nights a week in Lodi since she quit porn, and was taking some online classes in screenwriting so she could go back into the business as a producer, which meant that Opie was bankrolling the majority of their life for the time being. Kyra couldn't imagine the two of them arguing over money and who paid what like she and Juice. She wondered how often Lyla just smiled and went along with whatever Opie said and what she thought about the money that had paid for this house. But then again, Lyla had spent years sucking dick onscreen for cash. _Guess she can't really afford to nitpick over shit like that_, Kyra thought.

Lyla decided with the change of venue that they wouldn't do a rehearsal dinner. Instead, there'd be a small dinner at the house immediately following the ceremony and then everyone would go back to the clubhouse for the real reception, which from what Kyra picked up, would be a typically loud and insane SAMCRO bash. She'd always thought that loud music and strippers were synonymous with the night before the wedding, and not the actual wedding day festivities, but she'd learned in the last few months that the club had its own way of doing things. A wedding reception with bikers, porn stars, and booze sounded like more fun for the guys than the actual bride and groom, but Lyla seemed okay with it and Gemma charged along with her planning like the concept was totally normal. She gave Kyra a fairly easy job: organizing the post-wedding dinner and Kyra was happy for the responsibility. It was another welcome distraction from her thoughts of Juice.

They were finished for the day and filed out of the house toward their respective cars when Gemma tapped Kyra on the shoulder. "Why don't you let me give you a lift, sweetheart?"

_Sweetheart? Oh shit. This can't be good. _"I'm fine riding back with Tara," Kyra replied.

"We need to have a little chat."

_She knows. _Kyra checked her panic before she spoke. "About?" she asked with a raised brow.

Gemma opened the passenger door to her Cadillac. "Girl talk. Get in." she commanded.

Kyra looked over at Tara whose brows were knitted with worry. Just great. Not only was Gemma about to get in her business, but she was also making it obvious that something was wrong. Kyra gave Tara a shrug as if to say "I don't know what this is about either."

"I'll give you a call later," Tara said as she opened the door to the Cutlass.

Kyra nodded and got in the car, bracing herself for what she knew would be an uncomfortable ride. She hated dealing with Gemma when she wasn't completely herself. She always needed every ounce of strength and restraint she could muster when the woman went into interrogation mode.

Gemma settled into the driver's seat, quickly chucking her purse in the backseat and lighting a cigarette. Kyra, in search of a distraction from the awkward silence, pulled out her Blackberry to check her work emails. No way would she initiate this conversation.

"So you and Juice," Gemma said after she started the car. "What's going on there?"

"You tell me, Queen Mother Gemma," Kyra snapped.

Gemma glared at her over the rims of her sunglasses. "Watch it."

Kyra sighed. She didn't have it in her to match wits with Gemma today. The conversation would just have to go wherever it went. "Look, obviously you want to talk to me because you already have an idea, so the coy approach is a little pointless."

Gemma nodded. "Fair enough—"

"Though I kinda thought," Kyra interrupted, "that you'd stay out of _my_ business as long as I didn't interfere with the club?"

"Well, when you let _your_ business leak out of your house and into the clubhouse, it _becomes_ my business."

Kyra sighed. _I swear these muthafuckas change these "rules" as they go. _"Fine. So what do you want to know?"

"It's not about what I want to know, sweetheart. It's about what you _need_ to know. So he lied to you, huh?"

Damn. What exactly had Juice told her? "Yup."

"As much as I hate to admit it, I get it," Gemma said with a sigh. "If you can't trust your man, it doesn't work."

Kyra kept her eyes on the road ahead. "Nope. Sure doesn't."

"Look, you can sit over there and pout and play poor woman scorned if you want, but you and I both know you don't want this thing with you and him to be over."

"Gemma, you don't know what I want-"

"Oh, give me a fuckin' break, Kyra. Juice may be a goddamned idiot, but manipulative? He's not. _Whatever _he lied about, I'm sure it wasn't with the intent to hurt or betray you. He screwed up. That's what they do. You punish him, get over it, and move on."

"Just like that, huh?" Kyra snapped her fingers. "I just take him back and act like this shit never happened?"

"You know what? I don't really give a shit what you do," Gemma replied. "But you need to figure it out sooner than later. You don't want him distracted with home shit while he's out there. You'll get him killed. Take him back or cut him loose, but whatever you do, do it quickly, so can all move on."

Kyra hadn't thought of how what went on between she and Juice could affect him in his day to day life. He was a guy. They compartmentalized all the time. Were their problems really nagging at him to the point where he'd be distracted in his club business? It wasn't like he worked a regular job though, where a mistake meant a reprimand. Mistakes in Juice's line of work _could _get him killed. She'd already been through the hell of seeing him shot. She didn't think she could handle much worse than that.

They pulled up to Kyra's apartment complex and Gemma killed the engine. "I've been in this world for a long time and seen a lot of men wear that cut, but not too many like your guy. With a lot of these guys, you have to really _dig_ to find the goodness, but Juice? Despite all the crazy shit he's seen, he somehow manages to wear his goodness on his sleeve. Big heart. Loyal. The kinda guy who will lay down his life in a heartbeat for the people he loves. Keep that in mind while you're thinking this through. Though I gotta tell ya, Kyra. If you're really ready to call it quits over one spat, maybe you don't understand that kind of loyalty."

Gemma's words wrapped themselves around Kyra's mind and didn't release their grip for the remainder of the day. She laid on the couch in her apartment, in silence, for hours, tangling and untangling her thoughts. She hated that Gemma was so right. What she'd grown to love about Juice was how easily he toed the line between doting boyfriend and fierce protector. It scared her, because she used to hear the mumblings of a brainwashed MC woman whenever Gemma spoke, but these days, the matriarch made more sense to her.

"If you're really ready to call it quits over one spat, maybe you don't understand that kind of loyalty." Had that been another one of Gemma's mind games or was there some truth there? She'd never been in deep enough with anyone to understand the concept of "stand by your man." She was used to standing on her own, while the men in her life occupied temporary space. Was she really overreacting to Juice's mistake? Kyra needed perspective. Tara? No. Tara had been an old lady long enough to have bought into some of the MC logic, too. What she needed was an understanding outsider. She needed Neeta.

"Praise the Lord, this is Neeta," her aunt answered her phone with her usual greeting.

Kyra smiled. She always got a warm, familiar feeling when she heard Neeta's voice. "Hey, auntie, it's me. You busy?"

"I just put the boys down for their naps so I have time to talk. Somethin' wrong?"

"I umm…" she stammered. "I needed someone to talk to…"

"Do you need me to come over there Kyra, cuz I can—"

"No, no Neeta," Kyra said. "It's not that bad. Me and Juice had a bad fight a couple days ago and I put him out. And I'm just so confused about what to do now."

"Ahhh. I see," Neeta replied. "Well, tell me what happened."

Incapable of her usual reserve and need-to-know approach to storytelling, Kyra ran down the entire ordeal: the money problems, Juice's snooping into her bank accounts, his lies. Neeta listened quietly. It was her way to hear the whole story before interjecting with a thought or opinion.

"And it's not that I think he doesn't love me, Neeta because I know he does," Kyra said as she finished up. "I just…I don't know if I can get over the fact that he betrayed me."

"Well baby, I can't tell you what to do, but I can tell you what I think. For starters, before you start worrying about whether or not you want him back, you need to forgive that man."

Neeta too? Why was everyone acting like what Juice had done was no big deal? "Even though he lied to me for no good reason?"

"Did you let him give you a reason before you kicked him out?" Neeta asked.

Kyra sighed. "No."

"Alright then. So you don't know if it was good or not. But good or bad, you still need to forgive him. You know why? Because God forgave you for your betrayal."

_Ugh. I should've known she'd find a way to pull Jesus into the conversation. _"What betrayal? I've never betrayed anyone."

"Oh, so you takin' up with that married man when your mother got sick wasn't a betrayal?"

Rico? What the hell did that have to do with anything? And then it hit her. Karma. She'd known for years that she had it coming; that at some point, she would pay for being the other woman. She just always assumed it would come in the form of Juice cheating on her, but apparently, karma wasn't as literal in its execution as she thought it would be.

Neeta continued. "I'm not saying you deserve this, baby. Nobody deserves to be hurt. What I'm saying is that maybe you should be a little more understanding. Juice made a mistake just like you made a mistake four years ago. God saw fit to forgive you, and continue to bless you with a good life. I just think that you should do the same. If not for Juice, then for you; lift that burden from your heart."

"I never would've thought of it that way. Thanks Neeta."

"And another thing…" Neeta started, "if you do take him back, you gotta learn how to let that man love you, Kyra."

"What? You mean let him take care of me?" Kyra replied. "But you and Ma always said…"

"Look, I know what me and Rhonda told you. And at the time, we were right. You were a little girl with a lot of potential and we wanted to make sure you knew how to take care of yourself, and you know how to do that, right?"

"Yeah."

"So what do you think is gonna happen? If you let him help you out, you're gonna suddenly forget how to hold your own? Do you know how many lazy negroes back in Oakland would just _love_ to live off a pretty girl with a lot of money, rent-free? Here, you gotta hard workin' man tryin' to contribute to your house and you think that's a _bad_ thing? Now I'm not tellin' you to take any sum of money that will make you feel uncomfortable, but you've gotta let the man pull his own weight baby. Letting Juice feel like a man sometimes doesn't make you less of a woman. Just means you love him."

Kyra was silent. Neeta said a mouthful and she needed a second to take it all in. Though Neeta's advice was pretty much the same as Gemma's, she respected Neeta's analysis more. Her words weren't about the club or a sense of duty, but about real world concepts like understanding and forgiveness; things that she could apply without feeling like some MC Stepford Wife. "Thanks so much Neeta."

"Did I help?"

"Yeah, Auntie," Kyra said with a smile. "More than you'll ever know."

"Good. I just want you to be happy, baby. Whatever you decide, just be happy."

Kyra nodded. "I will. I'll let you enjoy your quiet time until Abel and Tommy wake up."

"Alright sweetie," Neeta replied. "Love you."

"Love you too." Kyra pressed the end button on her Blackberry and continued to stare at it in her hand. She still didn't know what she wanted to do, but she could at least hear what Juice had to say. She opened her inbox and looked at his text message again: _Can we talk?_

With a sigh, she typed "Sure. I'll stop by TM tomorrow after work," and pressed send.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Kyra**_

Anxiety. That was the feeling that stalked Kyra through the day. There was no good reason why she was in her bedroom trying to figure out what to wear to the Teller-Morrow garage. It was a fucking _garage_. Yet, there were clothes thrown across her bed as if she was heading out for a night on the town and not to the grungy garage to hash out her troubles with Juice. She'd told herself all day that she didn't have to make a decision. She'd just give him a chance to explain himself and see where it went. She hated that a part of her was excited; had been longing to see Juice's face and hear his voice for days. That was the part that had her staring at her closet like an idiot, trying to piece together an outfit that would remind him of what he had to lose without really trying. "Okay, this is fucking stupid. Just put on some damn clothes, Kyra," she fussed, snatching a pair of black leggings, a white T-shirt, and a long hooded grey sweater out of the closet. She slipped on a pair of black booties with a three inch heel. Kyra always felt more powerful in heels, and she'd need all the reinforcement she could get when she saw Juice.

She spent ten minutes sitting in her car, flipping through her iPod in search of the perfect music for her drive. When she couldn't find anything that matched her mood, she tossed the iPod aside and rode in silence. Her nails tapped the steering wheel as she guided her Mustang down Main Street. She did a double take when she saw a "Coming Soon: Starbucks" sign across the street from Nicki's Café. _Wow, Mayor Hale is not playing around_, she thought, making a left turn toward the garage. When the slate grey building was in her sights, she felt her heart skip a beat. "Shit," Kyra whispered. She had to calm down. She slowly pulled into the parking lot and turned off the ignition. Her eyes went toward her rearview mirror to check out the happenings around the lot. It looked like a pretty normal day. Miles and Fil were hanging out by the boxing ring with Brit, the puppy-eyed Prospect who'd fixed her door after the break-in. Jax, Koz, Chibs, and Happy's crazy ass were milling about the bays in their work shirts. She checked her Blackberry. Juice had text her at about four and told her to come after six because he had to run an errand with Clay. It was going on seven. She scanned the parking lot again and saw Lyla sitting on one of the picnic benches near the clubhouse. Good. At least she'd have someone to talk to.

Lyla greeted her warmly when she walked up. "Hey. Lookin for your guy?"

Kyra nodded. "Yeah, you seen him?"

Lyla shook her head. "No. He left awhile ago with Clay and Ope. Ope said they'd be back soon, though."

"Mind if I wait with you?" Kyra asked.

"'Course not. Have a seat."

Kyra climbed up on the bench, stretching her legs in front of her once she was settled. For awhile, the two women were quiet, looking out at the last hint of sunset as it gave way to the dark evening sky. The view was a welcome distraction from the craziness occupying her mind. "So two more weeks until the big day. Excited?"

"Yeah," the blond said with a smile. "Never in a million years did I see myself married. Ope's great. And it feels like I'm finally giving Piper the life he deserves; a real family and a home, you know?"

Kyra nodded. She always thought of Lyla as an old lady and former porn actress. She sometimes forgot that Lyla was also a single mother who wanted a good life for her kid, just her mother had been. Thinking of it that way made it easy for Kyra to overlook her opinions on how Lyla and Opie hooked up. Who was she to say that this woman didn't deserve a happy ending for herself and her son?

"So umm. Everything okay with you and Juice?"

Kyra shook her head. SAMCRO was family indeed. Everyone running their mouths and in each other's business. She crossed her legs. "Depends on what you've heard."

"Well, some of the girls are talking," Lyla said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"What girls?"

Lyla nodded toward a group of Crow Eaters that had gathered near the boxing ring and Kyla raised a brow. "Really? What are they saying?"

"I was coming from the bathroom earlier and I heard one them, a short blond named Darcy, talking about how you need to do your job and take care of your man if you want to keep him."

Well it had been five days. Of course the vultures were circling. Kyra shook her head. "Thirsty ass bitches."

"There's more," Lyla continued, worry lines creasing across her forehead. "She was talking some pretty bad shit about you."

"Bad shit like what?"

Lyla sighed. "I'm saying this as a quote, but… she said 'Juice's little nigger Barbie needs to take better care of her dick—"

_Nigger._ The word hadn't left Lyla's mouth completely before Kyra's heart started pounding. She leaned forward, turning to look in Lyla's eyes. "What the fuck? Are you serious?"

Lyla nodded. "Look, I'm sorry, I was just saying what she sa—"

These bitches were out of their fucking minds. Who the fuck did they think she was? _I see. I come around here in suits, speaking like I finished tenth grade and these bitches think shit is sweet. Like I won't whoop somebody's muthafuckin' ass. _"The bitch who said it. She still here?"

"Yeah. I think she's still inside."

Kyra nodded. "Yup," she said, leaping off the bench. She grabbed her purse and dug furiously through its contents, in search of a ponytail holder. Upon finding one, she pulled her hair into a tight, high ponytail and started removing her earrings. Lyla's eyes seemed a little curious at first, but when Kyra pulled off her silver hoops, she figured out what was about to happen. "Need me to point her out?" she asked.

Kyra pulled her sweater over her head. "Yup. Let's go." For the third time in five days, her entire body was on fire. Her knuckles tingled as she followed Lyla into the clubhouse, so much so that her fingers wiggled uncontrollably at her sides. Since she'd been in Charming, she'd been carefully checking herself; never allowing her anger to overwhelm her, but she was officially over it. She'd played nice for Gemma, the bitches at work, and even Juice to an extent. Now? It was a fucking wrap. _These backwoods bitches got me fucked up_.

She and Lyla walked in and scoped the room. None of the guys were in the common area; just some random Crow Eaters and sweetbutts. She saw a couple of blonds, but the only short one was posted up at the bar taking shots with a taller brunette. Kyra nodded in her direction. "That her?" she whispered to Lyla.

Lyla nodded.

Kyra dropped her purse and sweater in a chair near the door and approached the bar; her heart pounding harder and faster with each step. She opened and closed her fists and all of the sound in the room disappeared, replaced by an almost calming white noise. When the smell of Tequila, cigarette smoke, and some fruity Victoria Secret fragrance filled her nostrils, she realized that her target was within arm's reach. Kyra's right arm lunged forward, and she dug her hand into Darcy's hair until her fingernails were pressing against the woman's scalp. She snatched her head back slightly, before slamming Darcy's face forward into the bar. The blond let out a shriek and her friend stepped quickly out of the way. Kyra slammed her head down again, shattering a nearby shot glass with her fist and Darcy screamed and flailed her arms wildly. She caught Kyra with a few scratches to her cheek and arms, and Kyra could taste blood on her bottom lip, but she continued ramming her face into the polished wood. When Darcy was too disoriented to keep swinging, Kyra snatched her head back again, this time pulling her off the barstool. She heard the shuffle of footsteps and deep voices in the room as she pulled her left arm back and punched Darcy in her already bloody nose. The hit knocked Darcy to the floor and when she landed, Kyra stood over her and placed the tip of her boot on her neck. Darcy squirmed, looking up at Kyra with wide, terrified eyes.

"Now, look bitch. I don't give a _fuck _what you call anybody else in this town," Kyra spat. "_But call me another nigga and see if I don't stomp yo' gotdamn teeth out._"

**_Juice _**

Juice was worried that he'd run too late when he pulled up to Teller-Morrow behind Opie, but he was relieved when he saw Kyra's Mustang parked on the lot. He didn't want to leave, but when Clay told him he was needed on a quick trip to Oakland, he couldn't say no. It was another sign that Clay trusted him with more of the club's heavy lifting, and Juice didn't want to disappoint him. He'd told Kyra to get there after six, and when he checked his watch it was a little after seven. _She waited, that's got to be a good sign,_ he thought as he scanned the lot looking for her. He looked toward the office and Gemma had gone home for the day, so he knew Kyra wasn't in there. Maybe she was in the clubhouse? That was unlike her. She didn't like hanging around the clubhouse without him.

He approached the clubhouse and saw Jax, Hap, and Koz hanging out near the door in their Teller-Morrow work shirts smoking cigarettes. "Hey guys," he said. "You seen Kyra around?"

The three men began to chuckle and Juice felt the veins in his neck pop. What the fuck was so funny? Jax was the first to speak. "Yeah bro. Your little slugger's inside."

"Slugger?" he asked. "What the fuck you talkin' about?"

Koz's face lit up. "Dude, your girl just Laila Ali'd some Crow Eater in the clubhouse. It was _awesome_."

_Holy shit! What the fuck is she doing fighting?_ "And you assholes just stood there and watched?"

Jax shrugged. "It was just about over by the time we got in there. But trust me, she didn't need any help."

Happy took a drag of his cigarette, his dark eyes shining with a light that was only sparked by the debauchery or violence. "Bitch packs a mean punch, bro."

Before Juice could react, Jax slapped Happy's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Chill out, Hap."

Juice threw his head back. He did _not_ need this shit. Why the hell was she in the clubhouse brawling with fucking Crow Eaters? Was she out of her goddamned mind? "Where is she?"

"Chibs is getting her cleaned up."

"Jesus Christ," Juice snapped, snatching open the clubhouse door. _If I catch you on some bullshit, I will act a fuckin fool in this clubhouse_. Wasn't that what she'd said in regards to cheating when they first hooked up? Shit. Had she run into Darcy? Darcy didn't strike him as the type to mouth off to an old lady's face, but he could never be sure when it came to chicks. When their emotions got involved, there was no telling what they'd do. _Shit, shit, shit!_

He reached the common room and found Kyra sitting on the pool table, with her head tilted up toward the light, while Chibs swabbed her right cheek with a Q-Tip. She wasn't too banged up. Just a few scratches on her face and her bottom lip looked like it was split down the center. There were bandages around a few of her fingers. "The hell happened here?" he asked.

Kyra's eyes darted over to him and then back up to the ceiling, while Chibs continued to dab at her face. "You remember what Otto did to Stahl in that interrogation room?"

Juice scanned his mind for the memory. "You mean when he shattered her face?"

Chibs nodded. "Aye. Feisty little lady you got here, brother."

"Jesus Christ, Kyra, what the hell?"

She cut her eyes at him. "That little redneck bitch called me a nigga."

Wait. So maybe her fight hadn't been about him. People said all kind of crazy shit around the clubhouse. He knew it was only a matter of time before she heard some kind of slur. He was almost relieved it'd come from someone she could smack around as opposed to one of the guys. Still, he wanted to know who she'd beat up. "Who?"

"Darcy," Kyra spat, keeping an eye on his reaction.

_Shit. _He paused a moment before speaking again. It wasn't like he'd had a plan, but this wasn't where he'd thought their conversation would go. He softened his expression. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she said flatly. "Can't say the same for your friend."

Chibs placed his index finger under Kyra's chin and tilted her head. "Looks like you're all cleaned up, darlin'. I'll leave you two love birds to your business."

"Thanks Chibs," Kyra said, graciously.

Juice approached her slowly, studying her face. He didn't know if she wanted him close to her, but he didn't care. He was on thin ice, but they were still in _his_ clubhouse. She had to know he had authority here. "She do that to your lip?" he asked, pointing at the split.

Kyra shook her head. "That was me. Guess I bit down too hard during the fight. I don't know. I kinda zoned out."

He almost laughed. Of course she'd been so intent on kicking the crap out of Darcy that she hurt herself in the process. "Let's go talk in my room." He wanted to help her down off the pool table, but figured that initiating physical contact was pushing it. Instead he stepped back and gave her room to hop down on her own. He let her walk in front of him down the hall and he couldn't help but steal an opportunity to check out her ass. Her body did magical things to a pair of leggings and he had to resist the urge to reach out and touch her. He hated this shit. She was supposed to be his woman. He should have felt free to touch her. _Shit sucks_, he thought, reaching around her to unlock his door.

Once inside, she went straight to the bathroom and flicked on the light to study her bottom lip in the mirror. Juice, unsure of what to do, sat his keys down on the dresser and plopped down on his bed. He watched her gently dab at the dry blood with a wet paper towel in silence. "You fuck her?" Kyra asked, eyes still focused on the mirror.

The question had rolled out of her mouth so easily and without venom, that he didn't realize what she'd said. "Huh?"

She turned to face him. "I swear to God, if you sit there and act like you don't know what the fuck I'm talkin about, I'mma come over there and slap the shit outta you. THE BITCH WHOSE NOSE I JUST BROKE. DID YOU _FUCK_ HER? _YES OR NO?_"

_Whoa. Guess she's still in crazy mode_. What did she mean? Had he fucked Darcy _ever_ or just in the five days since she'd put him out? What if he had fucked her? What did she expect? She'd put him out for five days and didn't say a word to him. He knew that defense wouldn't work, though. Head didn't count as fucking, right? _I should just say no_. But then he remembered why he was in this boat in the first place. He had to tell the truth. He sighed. "Not reeeally."

She gripped the edge of the sink and raised a brow at him. "Okay," he finally surrendered. "She blew me yesterday, but that's it." Juice met her hard glare with a softer gaze of his own. "Kyra, I swear."

She turned back to the mirror and shook her head. "Of course," she mumbled. "Look you said you wanted to talk, so I'm here. But if you're not done getting your rocks off with these busted ass hoes, I can go home." She stopped a moment. "You know what? I think I should go. This ummm… turn of events has me a little aggravated right now and I want to give you a fair shot. Let's try this again tomorrow at my place."

Juice flopped down on the bed. He couldn't believe this shit. He finally got her to hear him out and the opportunity was about to slip through his fingers. Fucking Darcy. He sat up and watched her grab her purse off the dresser. _No, fuck this. I'm sick of her Superwoman bullshit. _He couldn't let her keep tap dancing all over him like he was some kind of pussy. She could be as strong and tough as she wanted to be, but he was a man. Not her child. "Kyra, sit your ass down."

She looked up at him and tilted her head. "What did you just say to me?"

"You put me out and don't let me explain shit. Then you go damn near a week without telling me what the fuck's going or if I can come get my shit. Now you wanna stomp off like some spoiled little brat cuz I let some bitch suck my dick after I didn't hear from you for a week?" Juice stood up, feeling adrenaline flow through his veins. "No. You're done throwing tantrums. Sit the fuck down."


	14. Chapter 14

_**Juice**_

Her reaction was slow. As if he'd spoken in a language that she couldn't understand and needed a moment to comprehend the words. Juice braced himself. He was sure she had left over adrenaline from tussling with Darcy and had already threatened to smack him. He would have loved to see her try it. He outweighed her by seventy pounds and had done time. He'd never hit her back, but did she really think she could inflict real pain on him? When she'd comprehended his demand, she rolled her eyes. "Juice, I swear to God—"

"What, Kyra?" he barked. "You swear to God what? You're gonna hit me?" He crossed the room and stopped in front of her. He could smell her cocoa butter lotion mixed with a hint of sweat. "Go ahead. Wail on me till your goddamn hands bleed, I don't give a shit. But when you're done, you're gonna sit the fuck down and hear me out."

She squared her shoulders and glared at him. Her stance indicated that she was considering throwing a punch, but Juice didn't care. He meant what he'd said. He'd take whatever she could dish out, but he wasn't letting her leave his room. Finally, she dropped her purse back on the dresser. "Fine. You wanna talk? Talk."

He exhaled. _About fucking time_. "Look. I know I fucked up. The shit I said about your mother… I was out of line and I'm sorry."

Her facial expression didn't change. Obviously that wasn't going to be enough for her. "Kyra, sit down."

She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. It was a look he could've sworn he'd seen Gemma give Clay on more than one occasion. It was ironic. Their relationship was on the rocks but she was in the clubhouse smacking around Crow Eaters and giving him that "stop bullshitting me" death glare. She was becoming more of an old lady than she probably realized. "C'mon Kyra, what do you want me to say?"

"I want you tell me how I'm supposed to trust you after what you did."

"Maybe because you watched me almost put a bullet in somebody's head to protect you!" He shouted. _Calm down, man, _Juice said to himself before speaking again. "Look Kyra, you want me to admit I screwed up, fine. I screwed up. I should've told you about the background check. But don't fucking stand there and act like I don't give a shit about you. I love you, Kyra and I've never given you any reason to doubt that."

Kyra rolled her eyes again. "Please, Juan. What you did to that crankhead was not about me. You'd have done that if you lived alone so spare me the 'I saved your life' bullshit. Just like you keeping the fact that you invaded my privacy from me wasn't about the club. It was about you knowing you fucked up and trying to keep it under wraps. I'm not one of your little patch-chasing Crow Eaters . You can't just flash your cut and make everything okay with me."

He couldn't fucking believe her. Was she really gonna be this stubborn? "So you mean to tell me that after the last five months, I've given you _no_ reason to believe in me _at all_? I make one mistake and all of a sudden nothing else counts? Cuz if that's how this goes, then I'll go to your place right now and pack my shit. Is that what you want?" The words came out faster than he could think about them. No way did he want to leave her, but he didn't have it in him to fight her into trusting him.

He could tell she was thinking. What exactly, he didn't know, but he saw the wheels spinning in her head. She rubbed her temple. "Why'd you do it?"

The back and forth was wearing on him. He had no idea what else to say to her. "Why'd I do what?"

"The background check. Why'd you do it?"

Juice sighed and sat down on the bed. "Kyra, I met you after the craziest two years of my life. I told you about some of the shit that happened: Chibs getting blown up and the trip to Ireland, but there was more. We got hit from every fucking angle. Feds. That shithead Zobelle in Charming. The Irish. We lost two old ladies. Gemma got raped. Tara got kidnapped. Some of our own brothers, guys I shared a patch with, turned on us. I spent fourteen goddamn months looking over my shoulder and the shoulders of five other people, twenty-four-seven. I was paranoid as shit when I got out." He looked up at her face. Her eyes appeared to be softening. She was finally listening to him. _Thank God. _"When I ran that background check, I did it because I had to know who you were before I brought you around. After it was done, I kinda just forgot about it. That's why I didn't tell you. Like I said, I'm sorry for that. But I won't apologize for protecting my club."

Kyra nodded. Was that understanding he saw in her eyes? "When did you do it?" she asked.

He pinched the top of his nose and closed his eyes, knowing she wouldn't like the answer to that question. "The night in the bar, when I backed that Nord off you. It was after that."

She searched her mind for the memory, and a look of angry revelation spread across her face when she found it. "What the fuck? We barely even _knew_ each other—"

"I knew—"

"What, Juice?" she interrupted. "What did you _possibly_ know after only knowing me for like two weeks?"

_This shit is so gay_, he thought as he cast his eyes on his boots. He knew what he had to say, but couldn't bear the thought of looking her in the eyes while he said it. "I knew that I wanted you to be the one." He paused, waiting for a reaction. More yelling, or at the very least an exasperated sigh. He didn't hear anything, so he kept going. "The whole clubhouse, Crow Eater thing; by the time I got out of Stockton I was over it. I wanted…I wanted something different. With someone like you." He let out a deep breath and summoned the strength to look at her. Their eyes locked as soon as he raised his head. Her entire face had softened. "You had me that night at the bar," he said.

Kyra titled her head toward the ceiling and blinked. Were those tears in her eyes? He'd only seen her cry once; the day her car broke down when she was on her way to visit her mother's grave. He didn't know if it was a good sign or a bad sign. "I don't really know what to say to that," she said with a shrug. "All I know is I'm tired of fighting."

Finally. Something they could agree on. "Do you want me gone, Kyra?"

She sighed and shifted her eyes. A lone tear fell down her cheek as she looked down at the floor. Her voice was just a hair above a whisper when she replied, "No."

Juice hadn't been aware of the tightness in his chest until she spoke. He exhaled and it felt like the first _real _breath he'd taken in five days. He held hands out in front of him, beckoning for her, hoping she'd break the wall between them and come to him. She crossed the room and his heart leapt. As soon as she was within his reach, he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his head into her stomach. He greedily inhaled; wanting to consume as much of what he'd missed as possible. Her hands slid under his cut, slipped it off of his shoulders and ran her hands down his back. He completely relaxed into the embrace. "I'm so sorry," he murmured into the white cotton of her T-shirt.

Kyra kissed the top of his Mohawk. "Me too," she replied, rubbing his back. The skin was still a little irritated from his fresh ink, but he was ecstatic to have her hands on him again, the pain was slight by comparison. "You know we've still gotta lot to talk about, right?"

He nodded against her torso; his eyes closed as her slender, soft fingers caressed the back of his neck.

"Can we just lay down for now?" she asked and he understood exactly where she was coming from. The cold war of the last five days had exhausted him, too. He knew this was only the beginning; that they still had a lot to hash out, but for the moment all he wanted was to bury his face in her neck and fall asleep to the sound of her breathing.

Juice didn't speak, just pulled her down into his lap. He felt the beginnings of a hard on when they laid down in the spooning position and her ass found its spot against his pelvis, but he willed it away. There'd be time for that later. Right now, he just wanted to sleep. He snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her back to his chest. She had that cream in her hair that made it smell like birthday cake and he took joy in the familiar scent when it filled his nostrils. "I love you," he whispered into her ponytail.

Her "I love you too" was the last thing he heard before nodding off into the first peaceful sleep he'd had in five days.

_**Kyra **_

"_You had me that night at the bar."_

That was the sentence that broke down the last of her defenses. When she woke up in the middle of the night, her thoughts drowned out every other sound in the dorm room, including Juice's notorious snoring. She recalled that night five months ago; the spark in his eyes as he spoke to her, his curious hands when he'd copped a quick feel on her ass, the look of disappointment on his face when she said she had to leave. She'd known he was interested and had felt the beginning of a very natural attraction throughout the exchange. Kyra never would have imagined that as she was deciding to initiate a flirtation with the cute Puerto Rican biker that he was already imagining them in domestic bliss. She had no idea that men even _thought_ that way, least of all outlaw bikers with random, scantily clad women at their service 24/7. The conversation took her back to Gemma's words about Juice being one of a kind. The quintessential bad boy/nice guy combination that women daydreamed about was laying next to her, clutching her body for dear life as if he thought she'd disappear while he slept.

She was sure she'd smack him when he told her to "Sit the fuck down" and when he dared her to do just that, he'd taken her by surprise. The tone of his voice wasn't the same angry whining she'd heard the day she put him out. It was a firm command. Not exactly threatening, but unwavering; like he'd absorb every one of her blows without even wincing. She'd had to remind herself that even though she wasn't afraid of him, Juice was no pussy, not even for her. So much of their initial fight had been him whining about being treated like a man. _Maybe if you spoke like a man instead of crying like a little bitch in the first gotdamn place, I'd have heard you out_, she'd thought.

Her heart had stopped when he'd asked if she wanted him to pack his shit. She remembered Neeta asking her if she'd bothered to ask why he'd run the background check. As angry as it made her, she had to at least hear his thought process behind the decision. She tried to put herself in his shoes: newly released from prison and rightfully twitchy. It made sense. Like Gemma said, Juice was fiercely loyal, and she could see how that loyalty would make him initially suspicious. She still hated that he'd kept the truth from her, and him simply "forgetting" wasn't as solid an explanation as she would have liked, but she guessed that was where forgiveness came in. She trusted that he didn't have a deceitful bone in his body when it came to her, but she had to make sure nothing like that happened again.

"_You had me that night at the bar."_ It would have been easy to let the words sweep her away. God knew she had to restrain herself from ripping off his clothes when he grabbed her hips and pulled her into the embrace, but there was still a larger problem: they had to work through the terms of their future. That was why she'd elected to just lay down for awhile; to allow her heart and body the relief of feeling his arms around her, while getting her head back on straight after his declaration. Yes, she would stay with him. However, staying didn't mean that they'd slip back into their old routine as easily as they'd entered it. They had to discuss expectations and what each of them would need from the other in order to make this work for the long haul. She wanted to be all in, just like Juice had been from the beginning, but to get there, her head and heart had to be on one accord.

As she relished the feel of Juice's warm breath on her neck, she told herself that they'd do it right this time. They'd talk first thing tomorrow morning and lay it all on the table. No more assumptions. No more secrets. And for damn sure, no more random encounters with those thirsty ass Crow Eaters. Kyra snuggled against his chest and closed her eyes. Maybe they weren't home yet, but it felt like they were on their way. And for the night at least, that was enough.


	15. Chapter 15

**_Kyra_**

The sex had been an accident. Well, as accidental as sober, consentual sex could be. It had been Kyra's intention to hold out for awhile. For how long, she didn't know, but certainly longer than the morning after a haphazard truce. Sure, they'd agreed to work things out, but neither of them had a firm understanding of what "working it out" meant. On top of that, Juice had very recently had his dick in that tramp Darcy's mouth. It wasn't a _huge _deal to her, hell she'd expected him to do much worse while he was away, but it was still enough to annoy the shit out of her. The concept of working through a rough spot in a relationship was new to her, but she was pretty sure that fucking hm under these circumstances was almost like rewarding bad behavior. Hadn't she read that in some book or heard it on an episode of Girlfriends, or something? She couldn't remember.

When she woke up to Juice's warm breath on her neck and a bulge lodged in her lower back, a switch flipped inside of her. She felt bare skin against her back and realized that he'd shed his T-shirt and jeans at some point during the night. She couldn't resist turning over to take a look at him. He wasn't the _most_ attractive man she'd ever been with; very cute but not faint-worthy fine like Rico had been. His body, however, was a thing of beauty; especially his upper body. He was all smooth, butterscotch-colored muscle, meaty but well-defined where he needed to be. She loved nothing more than to completely fold herself into his embrace and feel all those muscles flex around her when they fucked. Kyra ran her fingertips over the ripples in his abs, admiring the contrast of her deep caramel skin against his much lighter, but still brown tone. Before she knew was she was doing, her palms were on his bare chest, rising and falling with his breath. Five days wasn't _really _a long time, and on an intellectual level, she knew this, but her body had its own agenda. After all, wasn't all this man lying next to her, _hers_? Was she really wrong to want to feel him over her, around her, inside of her?

Kyra hooked her leg over his hip and started a trail of soft kisses on his chin. When she found his ear and nibbled there, he started to stir a little in his sleep. She slid her hands over his shoulders, and down his back and felt a large bandage. She'd forgotten all about his new reaper tat and was sure that it was pain, not pleasure, that finally opened Juice's eyes. He let out a little hiss and she eased her hands upward to cup the back of his neck. It took him a minute to become fully aware, but once he did, he was all over her, making short work of her T-shirt and diving face first into her exposed cleavage with a series of kisses, licks, and nibbles. The combination of softness and wetness on her skin made her shiver. Shit. She'd missed him more than she thought. His hands reached down and palmed her ass, simultaneous massaging her cheeks and pulling her against his hard on. Oh, gotdamn. When Juice rolled her under his hips and yanked her leggings down with one hard tug, she knew there was no turning back. Against her better judgment, she was going to fuck him while their future still hung in the balance. And when her spine curled inward upon his first full stroke, she couldn't remember why the thought had bothered her in the first place.

It was payback, then, when Juice was buried deep inside of her, pounding away at her favorite spot and she couldn't cum. Somehow, logic had stormed back into the encounter, allowing her body to be present while her mind wandered far out of the room. The shaking in her legs, her nails digging into his arms, they were pure physical reactions and unattached to anything she was thinking. Oh, this _sucked_. And she didn't know whether to be angry with herself for initiating the sex in the first place or being unable to find the focus to enjoy it through the end. She went through the motions; moaning and clawing at Juice the same way she would during an actual orgasm. She expected him to notice-he was the most attentive lover she'd ever had-but surprisingly, he hadn't. Kyra didn't know whether to be relieved or upset.

They lay in silence for a few seconds before Juice sat up next to her. "You hungry? I can go grab breakfast real quick."

She looked over him at the clock on his nightstand. It was 7:30. She was obviously going to be late for work, but she needed the time alone to shower and get her head back on straight. "Sure, that would be perfect. You know we still need to talk, right?" she asked. _God, please don't let him mistake that sex for closure on this._

He nodded and gave her a slight smirk. "Yeah, I know. Figured it'd be easier on a full stomach."

**_Juice_**

"No more secrets."

That was what she'd said to Juice that morning in the dorm room over coffee and bagels from Nikki's. She sat cross-legged on his bed, freshly showered and donning his navy blue Reaper T-shirt. Her hair was wet and pulled into a curly ponytail, which unfortunately made the scrapes on her face more obvious. She didn't look _bad_, and he imagined that Darcy probably looked a lot worse, but her split lip and scratched cheek were surefire indications of a tussle. Upon seeing her reflection, she'd decided to work from home, saying that she didn't want to feed the rumor mill at her job, and he wondered if things had been rough on her at the office since they found out she was SAMCRO affiliated.

"If you really want me to be all in this with you, then you've gotta treat me like a partner. Not a side kick."

It was now eight hours later, and he was turning his key in her apartment door for the first time in six days. He was happy to be back, but there was a funny feeling in his stomach that he couldn't quite name. He was happy they'd gotten the make up sex out of the way that morning, but it hadn't done a thing for her disposition toward him. She was still distant and a little cold and that same chill greeted him when he opened the door. The apartment was mostly dark, with the exception of the light that was on in the kitchen, where Kyra sat nursing a glass of Merlot. He could hear the faint hum of Sade coming from the living room. She looked as though she'd been staring off into space, in deep thought. "Hey," she said.

A week ago, he would have walked around the table and planted a kiss on her cheek. Today, he nodded in response to her greeting and took a seat across from her. He'd carried two manilla file folders into the house and he placed them both in front of her. He'd spent all day pondering what to do to make things right with her and hoped that the folders would be a step in the right direction. Her eyebrows scrunched up. "What's this?"

"The top folder is the background check that I ran on you. School records, hospital records, tax returns, a credit report, bank accounts, and your arrest record-" She opened her mouth to interrupt him, but Juice held up his hand. "Let me finish. The bottom folder is a background check on me. All the same shit I dug up on you. As you can see, it's a lot thicker than yours," he said with a smirk. "Blame that on the arrest record."

Kyra nodded slowly and looked up at him. Juice reached across the table and grabbed her hands. "Look, I get it. No more secrets."

She pulled her hands from his grip and pushed the folders to the side of the table. "The five-thousand dollars. Where did it come from?"

He took a deep breath. "The club, we um, we run guns. We used to just sell to gangs in Nor Cal, but now we're the biggest distributors on the West Coast. I handle the logistics on the transports. The cash I gave you was like a bonus."

"Is there gonna be more where that came from?"

Juice nodded.

She sighed and locked eyes with him. "Juice, I can't take that money. And it's not because I can't handle the shit that comes with being with you. You need me to be ride or die, fine. And I'll never snitch. But I'm not gettin' locked up over some stupid IRS shit. I'm too smart for that. _We're_ too smart for that."

She was right. Her intelligence was one of the things that attracted Juice in the first place, and now that they weren't screaming at each other, her reasons made sense. "Don't worry about that," he said, reaching into his pocket for a folded up piece of paper. He unfolded it and laid it on the table. "This is a payroll check from Teller-Morrow Automotive, in the amount of fifteen-hundred dollars, paid to the order of Juan Carlos Ortiz. I get one of these every two weeks. Clean, traceable income. Consider them yours."

Kyra still looked unsure. "How about I just take one of these a month?"

He'd never win this fight with her, but getting her to take at least fifteen hundred a month was an improvement from the chump change he'd given her before. "As long as that's at least half of the expenses, that's fine." _So far, so good, _Juice thought and reached back into his pocket for a joint. It was time to ask a question that'd been nagging at him for months. "That assault charge back in oh-six. What was that about?"

She leaned back in her chair and reached for her wine glass. "It was over a guy," she started, as she fiddled with the bottom of the glass. "The year before my mother died, I started messing around with this married dude. His wife found out about it and came to confront me the day after my mother's funeral. The rest..." she said, pointing to the folder.

The day after her mother's funeral? So that was why she'd slammed her victim's face into the sidewalk. Clearly that was just a line you didn't cross with her. "Guess Darcy got off easy," he said with a smile. As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Sure, they always did their back and forth banter, but what if it was too soon?

Kyra's eyes narrowed to slits. "Yeah well, you can see how well she sucks dick with two busted lips if you want, but I guarantee it won't end well for you, her, or any other bitch in that clubhouse you let see your dick."

_Yup, too soon_. Juice raised his palms and nodded. "Got it."

She folded her hands and leaned forward on her forearms. "If this is really gonna work, you _cannot_, under any circumstances, lie to me again. Look, I love you and I don't _want_ to leave you. So please, don't ever give me a reason to again." She pushed her chair away from the table.

_Is that it?_ he wondered. "Where you headed?"

"I need to spend at least an hour or two in the books tonight," she replied. "I ordered pizza. There's some in the fridge, if you're hungry."

Before he could say another word, Kyra was already halfway down the hall. He sat at the table for awhile wondering if there was something else he could have said or done to reassure her. He'd expected to feel better about things after they talked. They cleared the air on a lot of things, but he couldn't help but feel like something had gone unsaid. He knew jack shit about how to reclaim whatever normality they'd had prior to the argument and he'd never seen anyone else in the club go through something like this. Gemma and Clay would be ready to scratch each other's eyes out, but then a day later, they'd be back to normal as if nothing had happened. And Jax? Hell, all he had to do was grin at Tara sometimes and all the little worry lines in her forehead would disappear, no matter what he'd done. How the hell did he fix this, _really_ fix it? He didn't know and being lost in his head was giving him a goddamned headache. Juice went to the fridge, grabbed two cold slices of pizza, and parked himself on the couch. He sighed as he sunk into the soft fabric. At least the cushions were welcoming. After devouring the pizza, he slid out of his boots, reached for his Xbox controller, and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. Maybe it would take time before things were back to normal. Either way, it was good to be home.


	16. Chapter 16

**_A/N: Hey everybody! Just wanted to check in and thank you all for the wonderful reviews! It's funny that Kyra and Juice are in a strange "Now what" kind of place, because that's exactly where I am with this story. lol. I think I had so much fun writing their arguments (because she's so controlled and he's so laid back, I love that they can push each other to extremes) that I'm having a hard tome getting them back on track to happiness. Anywhoo, this a quick chapter that I may come back and expand later depending on how I feel. Thanks again for all the love you're showing Juice/Kyra. I really appreciate it. - SBG _**

_**Kyra**_

"And this Christmas, will be, a very special Christmas for meee..." Kyra nodded along to the classic Donny Hathaway tune that played over the speaker while she and Tara strolled through Macy's. As she was bombarded with lights, fake pine, and plastic Santas, it dawned on her that she hadn't given a single thought to Christmas shopping. Between studying for the CPA exam in January, Opie and Lyla's wedding madness, and keeping the peace in her apartment, the holidays were the last thing on her mind. The weeks since her fight with Juice had been quiet, but exhausting. All she wanted to do was fall asleep and wake up in the middle of January 2012 when all this shit was out of the way.

Tara walked next to her, still dressed in sea-green scrubs from work, gazing aimlessly at toasters and blenders. The trip to Macy's in Oakland had been her idea, and Kyra guessed that the doctor took joy in the rare moments when she didn't have to be "Mommy," "Dr. Knowles," or "Doc." "So what are thinking of buying them?" she asked Tara.

Kyra shrugged. When she told Juice she would shop for Opie and Lyla's gift after work, he gave her $300. "The gift is supposed to be from both of us," he said before she could object. After taking a thorough look at Juice's finances, she'd been surprised at how well-off he actually was. He had at least two years' salary in savings and on the record, his only expenses were his club dues and the occasional cash he wired to Puerto Rico for his mother. He had no problem handing over his paychecks, because he never spent them; opting to live on whatever cash he got from SAMCRO. Although they'd worked out their money arrangements, it was going to take her awhile to get used to accepting money from him, no matter how careful they were. Kyra stopped to look at some dinnerware. "I don't know. Maybe some bed linen," she finally answered. "They probably go through a lot."

Tara shook her head and her chestnut brown ponytail whipped behind her. "Wow, Kyra."

What was outlandish about the notion that a biker and former porn star put a lot of miles on their mattress? "What? You mean to tell me you don't think they fuck a lot?"

Tara turned her eyes back to the appliances. "Probably no more or less than the rest of us." Her voice turned concerned. "You okay?"

"Why?"

"Haven't seen much of you since the incident. You look exhausted."

Tara had taken to calling Kyra's one-sided brawl with Darcy "The Incident." Apparently, she'd seen Darcy brought into St. Thomas with a busted lip and broken nose and jaw. She hadn't been judgmental when she learned Kyra was the culprit, but Kyra could tell that it freaked her out a little, as if she couldn't believe her friend was capable of something like that. "Did you really have to hurt her _that_ badly?" Tara had asked. "I understand sending a message to other girls, but..."

"Fuck a message," Kyra had snapped back. "Black folks were hung and burned over the word 'nigga.' Excuse me if I'm not losing sleep over that bigoted bitch's face. She'll be aiight."

Kyra didn't know if she was 'okay.' She spent the last two weeks going through the motions: wake up, go to work, come home, cook, study, sleep, and repeat. Every few days, she'd throw fucking Juice into the routine, but that was more about keeping his dick out of random club snatch than fulfilling any of her own needs. She and Juice were polite, almost too polite; as if they were afraid of rocking the boat over the sea of awkwardness between them. "I'm making it," she answered, picking up a glass bowl, "unless you've heard otherwise." Since her spat with Juice, Kyra had given up on the notion of privacy within SAMCRO.

Tara shook her head. "I haven't heard a word. I hope I'm not overstepping my boundaries, but I can tell something's wrong. If you need to talk about it…"

_You need to mind your fuckin' business, _Kyra thought and bit down on the inside of her mouth to keep the quip from escaping. She'd been moody and snapping on everyone because she tried so hard not to snap on Juice when she got home. She didn't even know _why_ she was so aggravated. They'd kissed, fucked, and made up. Weren't things supposed to go back to normal? Then why weren't they back to laughing, impromptu foot rubs, and trying to kick each other's asses on Wii yet? And why hadn't she had an orgasm since before he left? She let out a heavy sigh. As irritated as she felt, she didn't have it in her to take it out on Tara, especially when she was just trying to be a friend. This was the perfect opportunity to talk through her issues, but something about pouring out her heart in the housewares section at Macy's rubbed her the wrong way. "I'm probably just cranky because I skipped lunch today. Think we could grab a quick bite and then get back to this? There's an Applebee's or a Friday's somewhere in this mall."

Ten minutes later, the two women were seated across from each other in a booth at TGI Friday's; Tara nursing a beer and Kyra staring down a 32-ounce Ultimate Margarita. The after-work crowd had started to trickle into the restaurant, followed by some Golden State Warrior fans in search of a good place to watch the game. Kyra sipped her drink in large gulps while Tara chatted about the adorable things her sons were up to. Abel had mastered his ABCs, while Tommy had finally uttered his first word: "Jax." Kyra studied the doctor's easy smile and realized that after months of storming around in a flustered whirlwind, she seemed to have hit her stride. "So," Tara said, "you feel like telling me what's really wrong or are you sticking with your story about being hungry?"

Kyra shook her head. Poor Jax. He probably couldn't get shit past his old lady. "I decided to stay with Juice because I love him and _want_ to be with him. But since we've been back together, there's this awkward 'now what?' feeling hanging in the air," she took another strawful of margarita. "I feel like I don't have a clue what the hell we're doing and it's driving me crazy. And as much as I complain, I'm almost _happy_ I have this wedding and CPAs to distract me, cuz if I actually made myself sit down and try to figure this shit out? God..."

As she finished her rant, their waiter arrived with the large appetizer spread they'd decided to share. Tara reached happily for the Buffalo wings and mozzarella sticks before she replied. "You and Juice just went through a hard time. I think it's normal to have some lingering uncertainty there."

"This ever happen with you and Jax?"

Tara sighed. "Nothing about the last two years with me and Jax have been normal. There was always some...some _crisis_ or impending doom that either pushed us together or ripped us apart. We had a shit time right before he locked up. Abel was gone, he pushed me away..." she trailed off for a moment. "He was a total dick. And when he finally got back from Ireland, we had twenty-four hours together before he had to go in. We didn't have time to _fix_ anything. Just decided we were in it together and took the rest a day at a time."

"I said all that, Kyra, to say this," Tara continued. "It might not _feel _good right now, but the fact that you and Juice have the time to really work through this is a good thing. When the next crisis blows through Charming-because one always does-you won't have to worry about it tearing you guys apart. You'll already have a foundation. It took eleven years and fourteen months in prison for me and Jax to get there."

So it was a good thing that Kyra was tip-toeing around her apartment as if there were land mines under the carpet? "How did you do it though? Like after he messed up, how did you get back to that happy place?"

"Well, we had a baby on the way. That helped. And we spent fourteen months apart. By the time he got home, the past felt unimportant. All we wanted was to be a family."

It was just as Kyra suspected. Jax and Tara seemed had a sweeping, Romeo and Juliet kind of bond that kept them glued together in the midst of all the chaos. She and Juice didn't have eleven years of history or babies to keep them connected. "What you and Jax have," she said, "me and Juice don't have that."

Tara sipped her beer. "Yeah. You two have something closer to normal. But it doesn't have to be crazy and all-consuming to be real, Kyra. Don't look at it in terms of what you and Juice _don't_ have. Think about what you _do_ have. Whatever it is, that's what's gonna get you guys through this."

Kyra knew what she and Juice had prior to the fight. There was Juice's adoration, kindness, and loyalty and her ability to adapt to and even start to enjoy life within SAMCRO. She and Juice actually had fun together, and being with him used to feel easy. What did they have now, though? Well, there was still loyalty, because neither of them had any desire to call it quits. There was also more honesty, with Juice having laid everything about his life on the table, but there wasn't _enough_ honesty because neither of them were saying how they felt. And hell, she was faking orgasms, which was the same kind of convenient lying she'd accused him of. Kyra guessed then, that what they had going for them at the moment was commitment, because the fight had forced them to really examine the relationship and decide that it was worth saving. They were officially in it for the long haul. Now if only she could figure out how to make the haul enjoyable again.


	17. Chapter 17

_**A/N: Hello again! Thanks for the feedback on the last chapter. Loved, loved the reviews. A few of you picked up on Kyra's anger problem and you're correct: I do write her temper as a little over the top in places. First of all, because it's fun, but secondly because I wanted to make sure I wasn't so enamored with her character that I made her flawless. What I love about Sons of Anarchy (and most shows that deal with moral ambiguity) is that its characters live by their own codes and that applies to the women of SAMCRO as well. For Gemma, violence is justifiable in instances of revenge and threatening her family. Tara has a bit more trouble with her moral code, but her trigger is self-defense. (Even in the instance with Margaret at the hospital, Tara thought she was defending her career.) Kyra's ultimate trigger is disrespect, which is true to her upbringing.**_

_**Also, love the love for the Kyra/Tara friendship. I knew when I wrote "Sweetest Taboo" that I'd eventually develop a friendship between these two. Tara, who's about seven years older than Kyra, is naturally wiser, but she's also shed more of her old ways than Kyra has. Kyra's much more of a product of her environment than Tara, and thus never "shed" her former self, but rather learned to keep it in check. I think she sees some similarities between the outlaw world and her upbringing and therefore feels no remorse about bashing Darcy's face in because that's how things were handled where she grew up. (Besides, what's an SOA fanfic without a good beatdown? lol)**_

_**Thanks again for the reviews. I know some of you have been passing along the links to my fics as well, which is GREATLY appreciated. By all means, keep reading, reviewing, and sharing! - SBG**_

_**Juice**_

Opie's bachelor party was in full swing when Juice decided to leave. SAMCRO bachelor parties were second only to patch over bashes, so the chaos in the clubhouse was turned up to level ten. Ope was perched on a platform at the bottom of a stripper pole like it was his personal throne, with two dancers twisting and twirling their legs around his huge torso while he nursed a bottle of Jameson and sported a toothy grin. Jax was posted at the bar nearby, watching Opie's show intently, but declining offers for lap dances with subtle winks and grins. The rest of his brothers were lost in the sea of women, though Juice was sure that at some point, he'd walked by Tig fucking some sweetbutt in the ass on a pool table. He didn't know exactly where Bobby was, but he would have bet money that he was facedown in some random snatch. Somewhere around his tenth shot Juice realized being drunk in a room full of available pussy would only lead to another bonehead move on his part. The right thing would have been to say goodnight and good luck to Ope before he left, but he wasn't sober enough to come up with a reason for his early departure that didn't make him sound whipped, so he slipped out quietly to the parking lot.

The crisp December air hit him as soon as he stepped out into the night and he was grateful. Cold air always helped sober him up. He walked over to his Dyna and stood a moment, trying to decide if his equilibrium was solid enough to balance the bike or if he needed to take his Monte Carlo. _No. The Monte Carlo's for club business. Can't park it at Kyra's_, he remembered, so he leaned against the rail next to his bike and pulled out a cigarette. Since moving in with Kyra, he didn't smoke these as much as he used to. She had no problem with weed smoke in the house, hell she'd become an almost regular smoker since they'd hooked up, but cigarette smoke drove her crazy. He shook his head when he thought about it. This damn woman would have him walking on egg shells for awhile, but he guessed it came with the territory of having an old lady. Highs and lows and shit. _It could always be worse_, he thought. At least he was still getting fed and fucked on the regular. He checked his watch. It was a quarter to midnight. He hadn't gone home that early from a party since he was sixteen years old, but if it would keep the peace, he was willing to make that sacrifice.

To Juice's surprise, the lights were on when he walked into the apartment. He'd expected Kyra to still be at Lyla's bachelorette party, but instead he heard her humming from down the hall. He dropped his keys on the kitchen table and noticed a medium-sized black gift bag covered in light pink hearts. He peered inside and almost took a giant leap away from it once he saw its contents. Among various colorful tubes and canisters was a large pink dildo. He chuckled. "What the shit?" Since he'd come back, they hadn't joked as much as they used to, but this gift bag shit was too funny to go unnoticed. Juice picked up the bag and walked down the hallway. Kyra was standing in the bathroom, singing some Trey Songz crap he'd heard her play about neighbors knowing his name, and putting rollers in her hair. He pulled a small bottle of spray out of the bag and held it up in the mirror's reflection. "Deep Throat Oral Desensitizer?" he said with a smirk.

She met his reflection with a small grin. Genuine smiles from her were few and far between lately. "Gotta love Lyla's porn buddies," she said, wrapping another section of her hair around a roller. "You're home early. Expected it to be a late one for you."

He shrugged and leaned on the doorway. "Tits and ass are tits and ass, whether I'm looking at them on a regular Friday or at a bachelor party." He pulled out a tube of Stay Hard cream. "So ummm you know we're _never_ gonna need this right?"

"So, what? You're gonna go through the whole bag?"

Juice stepped into the bathroom and stood directly behind her. "I'm trying to see what we can try out tonight," he answered, palming her ass through her black pajama shorts.

Kyra let out a heavy sigh and he could have sworn that he saw annoyance flash across her eyes in the mirror. She stepped away from his touch. "C'mon now. We've got the wedding in the morning. I can't mess up my hair."

_Dammit. _He was never the kind of guy who was picky about how his woman came to bed. Head scarves, rollers, big underwear... When Juice was in the mood, nothing turned him off. He figured all that shit eventually ended up on the floor or tangled between the sheets anyway, but he should have known when he found her fussing over her hair that his dick would go dry that evening. Did he push it and tell her that she'd look hot regardless of what she did to her hair or retreat to his XBox in the living room? He checked Kyra's reflection and she was in deep concentration, securing a hair roller with bobby pins. Didn't she have any idea what he'd left behind to come home to her? The least she could do was reward him with a blow job. She'd been this way since he'd come home; only giving in to his advances when he was persistent. Kyra was no nympho, but her appetite for him used to be pretty healthy. Lately, she seemed to give him just enough to keep him from complaining, which was better than nothing, but damn. It would have been nice to feel like she really _wanted_ it every now and then. He was still treading on shaky ground with her, so he chose his battles wisely. _Be glad you're getting pussy at all, doofus. _At that thought, his mind was made up. _Call of Duty on XBox it is,_ Juice thought as he returned to the living room.

When he woke up the next morning, Juice had to admit that the fussing over her hair had paid off. Kyra looked incredible. He warned her that MC weddings weren't super dressy affairs, so she went casual with a short-sleeved black sweater dress that hit right below her knees and hugged her curves like a dream. She even gave the ensemble a little MC flavor with calf high black stiletto boots and fish net stockings. The stockings weren't the gaudy cheap kind that he usually saw on women in the clubhouse, but more elegant with little designs in them. The rollers that prevented him from getting laid the night before had created a cascade of loose spirals that framed her lightly made-up face. He was so busy staring at her that he didn't pay attention to the fact that she was fully dressed and rushing around while he was still in bed. "Am I running late?" he asked her while she put on a pair of pearl earrings.

"No," she answered, studying her reflection. "I've gotta get there early to meet the caterers when they set up for the reception. We're not expecting ya'll until noonish."

He wanted to laugh at her mention of "we." Somehow, she'd been completely indoctrinated into the club. It was ironic, because Juice expected her to have issues with SAMCRO. He never would have imagined at the beginning that they'd get stuck on the everyday shit like "Don't lie to me," "How are we splitting the bills," and "Keep your dick in your pants," while her duties to the club came so easily to her. She gave herself a final once over before turning to face him. "So how do I look?" she asked.

Juice searched his mind for the answer that would get her out of those fishnets later, but came up empty. She was hot, though and the pearls added that dainty Kyra factor to her get-up. She was also showing the ink on the inside of her wrist. He held up his thumbs. "Two thumbs up, babe."

She gave him a half smile and bent down over the bed to kiss his cheek. "Thanks. You know how to get to the house, right?"

"I'm riding over with the guys."

Kyra nodded and walked toward the door. "Okay. See you in a couple of hours."

Before Juice could say good-bye, she closed the bedroom door behind her, sending a brisk chill through the room as she left. He shook his head. _This cold shoulder shit is getting old. _

_**Kyra **_

In the back of her mind, Kyra expected Opie and Lyla's wedding to have some special MC customs, but from the way things were shaping up, it would be a simple, casual ceremony. There was a small heated tent in the backyard, with seating room for about forty people, where Opie and Lyla would exchange their vows. When the wedding ended, the tent set up would change to accommodate tables for the reception. The weather was on their side, producing bright California sunshine and a temperature of about fifty-two degrees. Warm enough for early guests to be comfortable milling about the backyard yet cool enough that the tent wouldn't feel too warm when things got started.

Kyra stood in the kitchen, sampling the caterers' drinks. Since the wedding was scheduled to begin at 1pm, she'd asked for the normal brunch drink menu: mimosas, screwdrivers, and beers. She'd also requested tequila and whiskey. SAMCRO men could get pretty hardcore on the booze, no matter what time of day it was. "The mimosa is fine," Kyra said to the young blonde man who stood next to her at the counter. "What kind of Vodka is in this screwdriver? Tastes like bottom shelf."

The bar tender blinked hard and stammered. "Well ma'am it's…"

Kyra rolled the concoction around on her tongue. "It's bottom shelf. Can you please use Stoli?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Thank you," Kyra replied with a smile. Last thing she needed to do was be rude to the bartender and risk having her drinks spiked with saliva for the remainder of the day. "You can go ahead and set up in the tent now." She pointed outside to Gemma, who was in the yard directing the chair set up. "The lady in the navy blue dress will show you where to go." As expected Gemma sported a get-up that was hot, but a lot less modest than what a normal fifty-four year old woman would wear to a wedding. The long- sleeved wrap dress looked classic from behind, but when Gemma turned around, you could see the deep plunging neckline revealing a little more cleavage than what was appropriate. However, as the rest of the guests rolled in, Kyra realized that Gemma was one of the _more_ appropriately dressed women in the bunch. She recognized some of the scantily clad women as Lyla's former coworkers. When a leggy brunette walked by her in platform heels and a purple tube dress that barely covered her ass, Kyra had to swallow back a comment. _Do not judge. Do not judge,_ she repeated in her head.

"Now you two go outside and have a seat in the tent," an unfamiliar female voice rang out behind her. She turned around to find a short, stocky older white woman with neck-length grey hair leading Kenny and Piper into the kitchen. "No running and no playing. Don't want you dirtying up your clothes before the ceremony starts." The boys darted outside as if they'd received no instructions and the woman shook her head. "Goddamn boys," she mumbled. When she noticed Kyra, she stopped and gave her a hard once over. "Who are you? You got on too many clothes to be one'a Lyla's friends," she said. "Which guy do you belong to?"

The comment caught Kyra off guard. "Huh?"

The older woman rolled her eyes. "Well if you're not porn pussy and you're hangin' with this crowd, then you've gotta be club pussy. Which one do you belong to?"

_Damn. Assuming much? _Kyra thought. She almost replied with a smart remark until she took in the woman's carnation blue pantsuit. Carnation blue was the color of the wedding party. _This chick might be someone important._ "I'm with Juice," she answered, still uncomfortable with the tone in the woman's voice when she'd said "belong to." She stuck out her hand. "Kyra."

The woman hesitated at first, but accepted Kyra's handshake. "I'm Mary. Opie's mom."

Opie's mom. Which made her Piney's old lady. _Good thing I kept my mouth shut_, she thought. Sure she was more comfortable in the club, but not so much that she could insult a founder's old lady without consequence. "Juice?" Mary asked. "The brown kid with the goofy haircut right?"

She hadn't smiled at the mention of Juice in awhile, but she couldn't help but smirk at Mary's description of her man. "Yup," she nodded. "That's him."

As if on cue, a chorus of Harleys roared down the street. Mary shook her head. "God help you, getting mixed up with this bunch."

_Who you tellin? _Kyra said to herself as Mary stalked out of the back door and into the yard. As the back door closed, the front door opened and the SAMCRO boys marched in, one by one. They were all in cuts, but while some of the older men had haphazardly thrown their cuts on over button downs, the younger guys cleaned up fairly well. She'd never been a fan of Opie's look. She often thought he resembled Chewbacca with all that hair all over everywhere, but the groom had slicked his mane back into a neat chignon and trimmed his beard a little for his special day. Jax was in flannel, but looked like he'd actually taken the time to iron for the occasion, and Koz had on a black crew neck sweater. Even Happy's crazy ass looked decidedly less psychopathic than usual.

Juice trailed behind his brothers and Kyra had to catch her breath upon her first glimpse of him. While her man was always more meticulous than the others with his appearance, she'd never seen him in anything other than jeans, T-shirts and hoodies. Today beneath his cut, he wore a crisp black button down, casual black slacks, and a pair of black leatherConverse high-tops. His face and Mohawk were freshly shaven and he donned a pair of aviator sunglasses. A full-blown smile spread across her face as he approached her. When he got within arm's reach, she caught a whiff of cologne. Not the Axe body spray he usually wore, but real grown man cologne. Polo Sport, if she wasn't mistaken. "Well damn, you certainly clean up well," she greeted him.

She couldn't see his eyes behind his shades, but he was quiet a moment, as if her reaction had surprised him. "You know I couldn't let you show me up," he finally replied, revealing a single dimple. "How's everything shaping up around here?"

"Slowly but surely. I was actually about to go check on the bride."

"Cool," Juice looked around. "So where's the booze?"

Kyra shook her head and smirked. "Outside in the tent. There's beer, whiskey, and tequila. There's vodka out there for screwdrivers, but I'm sure you can get it straight if you want."

He nodded. "Okay. Should I save you a seat?"

"Yeah. I'll be down in a little while," she turned to walk away, but stopped to look at Juice one more time. She bit her lip. "You know, you _really_ look good."

Now it was his turn to break into a full smile. "Thanks babe."

She returned his smile and turned toward the stairs. As she made her way to the master bedroom where Lyla was getting dressed, she could have sworn she felt fluttering in her abdomen. She had had two mimosas on an empty stomach, but something told her the feeling had more to do with seeing her man, all cleaned up and sexy as hell, smiling an 1000 watt smile than the champagne swimming around her stomach.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Kyra**_

Kyra never thought to ask why the guys sometimes referred to Bobby as "Bobby Elvis," but she found out that afternoon when the wedding ceremony began. As the final guests straggled into the tent, Bobby took his place behind the mic, holding an acoustic guitar. Kyra turned to her left, where Juice was slightly slouched in the seat next to her and mouthed "What the hell?"Juice leaned over and whispered "He's an Elvis impersonator" with the same tone he would have used to describe himself as Puerto Rican. Like a baking biker who impersonated Elvis Presley was the most normal thing in the world. As Bobby launched into some song about weddings in Hawaii, Kyra shook her head in disbelief. It seemed like no matter how long she hung around these men, she'd always be surprised by some of the random shit they did.

About three bars into the first verse of Bobby's song, Kyra saw Opie's eyes glaze over and his chest rise from inhalation. She followed his gaze and saw Lyla standing at the end of the aisle. She looked amazing. Despite the location change, Lyla had stayed with the casual beach theme and wore a strapless simple A-line gown that fell just below her knees. Her blond hair was parted down the middle and fell around her face in soft ringlets that gave her an angelic hippy look. And the look on her face? The woman was positively radiant and for the first time since she'd met Lyla, Kyra could see the complete adoration she had for the man at the end of the aisle. She looked back at Opie and his usually long face lit up like a Christmas tree. The two of them had to be overcome with happiness and relief. Lyla was finally getting the family she'd always wanted for her son, and Opie was finally filling the void created by the wife he lost. Kyra wasn't a sentimental person, but it was hard not to tear up at the sight of the bride and groom beaming at each other.

When the bridal march ended, everyone returned to their seats and Kyra took the opportunity to scan the tent. To her right, sitting next to Neeta was Tara, holding Tommy and leaning on Jax, whose arm was around her. Gemma was in the row in front of Kyra, with Clay's hand placed firmly on her knee. These couples had endured real life tragedies: deaths, jail sentences, rapes, and kidnappings, and yet they were all still standing; happily, at that. She was suddenly angry with herself. There was no logical reason why two weeks after their reconciliation, she still felt awkward around Juice. What was she waiting for? A shooting star or a lightning bolt to strike the apartment and restore normalcy to their lives? When did life ever work that way? She'd been taught to never half-ass, yet here she was giving half-assed effort to the only man who'd ever genuinely loved her.

She glanced over at Juice, who was preoccupied with biting a hang nail on his left thumb. She had the sudden urge to hold his hand, so she went with it, reaching across his lap for his right hand. He instinctively laced his fingers with hers and she smiled, happy that despite how strange things felt between them lately, that kind of affection still came naturally to him. She knew he was a good man. Knew that she wanted to be with him. She'd even found her place among the women of SAMCRO. If she wanted what those women had, the kind of love and loyalty that could survive hell or high water, she had to get over herself. There was no magic solution, nothing left to do but _love_ Juice. When the new Mr. and Mrs. Harry Winston shared their first kiss as husband and wife, Kyra made a personal vow to do just that.

_**Juice**_

If he'd known all he had to do to get a real smile out of her was iron his clothes, Juice would have done so weeks ago. The first thing he noticed when he walked into Opie and Lyla's house was the way Kyra's face lit up when she saw him. It shocked the shit out of him, really. He knew he'd never be mistaken for GQ's Man of the Year, but he hadn't lived in the sticks his entire life. He knew how to throw on a clean shirt, some slacks, and cologne when the occasion required it. Unlike some of his brothers, he didn't mind cleaning up sometimes. He just didn't want to be told when to do so. He'd never let that tidbit of information out though. He got enough shit from Tig about being a "pretty little brown pussy" without adding to it. But then again, seeing Kyra's eyes linger seductively over him for the first time in weeks was worth a little bit of teasing. Especially when he noticed her subtly bite down on her bottom lip. Her lip bites held the promise of enthusiastic fucking later and the mere thought caused him to break into a cheesy grin of his own. _Shit. I'm so fucking whipped._ That was another piece of truth that was better left unsaid and unknown.

What started with a few smiles turned into little jokes and touches during the ceremony. Kyra's reaction to seeing Bobby singing Elvis was classic and Juice wished he could have snapped a picture of her "What the fuck?" face with his phone without causing a scene. She reached for his hand when Opie and Lyla said their vows and out of sheer habit, he'd folded his fingers between hers. It didn't occur to him until a few seconds later what was going on. The romance and lovey dovey shit had broken down a layer of her reserve and revealed once more how much of a chick she really was. He wished he could have forced her to look at him, so he could see what was playing out in her head. He stole glances throughout the remainder of the ceremony; watched the way she relaxed into her chair and leaned over so that their shoulders touched and he knew. The wall was slowly coming down.

Between the end of the wedding and the beginning of the short reception that would follow, Kyra was whisked off by Gemma, Tara, and Mary. Juice stood with Jax and Koz, sipping his Budweiser and tuning into and out of the conversation while keeping an eye on Kyra across the yard. She was talking with the caterers, pointing, nodding, and directing. She was almost-and he hated the thought-Gemma-like in her knack for delegation. Her expression was firm, but every now and then she'd give one of the workers a polite smile. Juice knew that smile though. It was the tight, rehearsed expression she gave when she was trying to be courteous but really didn't give a fuck about the person she was talking to. "Looks like somebody's fitting in," Jax said, breaking his train of thought.

"Yeah. Telling people what to do. Smacking chicks around," Koz said. "She's been fully converted, bro."

Juice nodded. "Yeah man. I guess she has."

Koz slapped his hands together. "So. Which one of you fellas is gonna be next down the aisle?"

_Damn sure won't be me_, Juice thought. Hell, he'd just gotten his woman to smile at him again. Marriage was a ways off. "Don't look at me." He pointed his beer bottle at Jax. "This guy's the one with what, twelve, thirteen years under his belt? Two kids..."

Jax dropped his head and grinned. "Yeah, I know, I know."

"So wassup? You makin' that move yet?" Koz pressed.

Jax turned up his Budweiser. "If I was, I wouldn't tell you two shitheads. Especially since this one's Old Lady is Tara's new best friend."

Juice looked across the yard and sure enough, Kyra and Tara were conversing. "Can't blame you for that."

Dinner began to wind down and clouds of cigarette and weed smoke hung in the tent. Everyone had relaxed into their seats and was enjoying drinks and wedding cake. Juice had watched Kyra's wine intake and he guessed she was somewhere near her third or fourth glass since the wedding ended. She didn't show any obvious signs of inebriation, but he could tell it'd been a long day for her when she pulled an empty chair next to him, stretched her legs and propped her feet up in it. "You tired?" he asked.

She shook her head, a look of contentment on her face. "Not really. Just enjoying the day before it's back to studying tomorrow." That damn CPA exam. He was probably more ready for it to be over than she was.

Bobby returned to the microphone and Kyra sat up in her seat, laughter twinkling in her eyes. "Wait. He's gonna sing some more?"

Bobby answered her question when he announced that he'd be singing one more song for the bride and groom's first official dance as husband and wife. He strummed a few chords before playing the opening of Elvis's "Can't Help Fallng in Love." Juice looked over at Kyra, who shook her head in amazement as Lyla and Opie took to the center of the dancefloor. Her expression softened as she watched them, suddenly less amused by Bobby's singing and more caught up in their moment. Slowly but surely, the other SAMCRO pairs joined them, starting when Clay pulled Gemma onto the floor with him. Next came Tara, with Jax in tow. Juice turned back to Kyra, who observed the scene with her glass of Merlot in her hand. _I don't know if she likes Elvis, but what the hell_, he thought and stood up in front of her. "C'mon. We can't be the odd ones out."

She smiled, planted her feet on the ground, and took his hand. "Good idea. I'd hate to have to beat another bitch down because she heard there was trouble in paradise." It was the first Darcy joke she'd cracked since the fight and Juice was unsure how to respond. She picked up on his discomfort. "It's okay," she said. "You're allowed to laugh."

"Funny," he replied as he turned around to face her. She cupped her hands behind his neck as he slid his around her waist and pulled her close. They were silent for a few beats, swaying back and forth to a simple one-two rhythm that they found naturally. _Of course, the black chick and the brown guy are rhythmically inclined_, he thought with a little laugh.

"This is crazy," Kyra said, breaking the silence.

Juice looked down at her. "What's that?"

She cast her eyes toward the tent's ceiling. "How the hell did I end up in a motorcycle club, at a wedding between a biker and a porn actress that I helped plan, dancing to Elvis?"

Juice circled the small of her back with his index finger. "That a good crazy or a bad crazy?"

She stroked the nape of his neck with her thumb and locked her dark brown eyes onto his. "Juan, there is nowhere else in the world I'd rather be."

Those were the words he'd wanted to hear for the last two weeks. Every muscle that had knotted since he'd come back home suddenly relaxed and he tightened his grip around her waist. He squinted his eyes at her. "Now are you sure that's not just the booze talkin'? You've been knockin' em back today."

Kyra twisted her lips and tapped the side of mohawk. "Hush." She paused. "You realize this is our first dance ever? Too bad it's to Elvis and not something more fitting for us."

Juice thought about it and she was right. This was the first time they'd ever danced. He'd heard her sing and play rap and R&B around the apartment, but had never thought to ask if she was into dancing. By the way she moved around the house, he bet that she was. He suddenly had an idea. "Hey, do you have to stick around after this is over?"

She cocked her head to the side. "Well, the caterers will take care of their mess, but I probably have to help out in the kitchen. Why?"

"I wanna take you somewhere. Think Gemma will mind if I kidnap you for the night?"

A sneaky grin spread across her face. "Well you are my Old man. If you say I've gotta go, that means I've gotta go, right?"

Juice returned her grin. "Your old report cards were right. You do catch on fast."

"You go anywhere near her with that garter and she'll be the last thing you touch, retard," Jax spat at the Prospect. The reception had come to a close with Tara catching Lyla's bouquet and the Prospect catching the garter Ope had thrown. Tradition stated that Brit was supposed to put the garter on Tara's leg, but Jax was having none of it. The rest of the guests erupted into laughter while all the color drained from Brit's face. "Oh shit man, I'm sorry. I wasn't tryin to-"

"Get lost. Now."

_Poor idiot_, Juice thought as Brit walked by him, head hung. Night had fallen and the crowd was slowly dispersing. Kyra was in the kitchen, getting a head start on the work that the rest of the women would finish, while the guys made their way to their bikes out front. They'd been good boys and sat quietly through the tedious wedding shit, now it was time for the real party back at the clubhouse. Juice stood on the deck, cell phone in hand, scrolling through his address book until he landed on "T.O." and pressed Send.

"A random call from Charming?" the Grim Bastards President answered. "The hell kinda shit ya'll into now?"

Juice chuckled. "I thought you heard. We're reformed citizens, man."

"Pffff. Yeah right. So wassup?"

"You still own that bar in Lodi, right?" Juice asked.

"Yeah," T.O. replied. "Why?"

"Well, I'm in your neck of the woods tonight and wanted to give a courtesy call to see if me and my Old Lady can stop by."

"Oh yeah, sure thing bro. Wifey'll be working the bar. I'll let her know to take good care of you."

When Juice and Kyra settled onto his Dyna, he recalled the first time she'd ever ridden on the back of his bike: the day her car broke down on the Four and she had to visit her mother's grave. She was much more familiar with the ride now. Knew how to stay calm through the dips and turns, learned to hold onto his waist without clutching in that nervous "Please don't kill me" way. Her familiarity with riding bitch once again solidified her progress in adjusting to him and his life, and as they whipped through the December night on their way to Lodi, he was happier than he'd been in weeks. They needed this night; a break from everything where they could enjoy each other's company and since she was already in a good mood from the wedding, he wanted to take as much as he could get while it was available.

He hadn't told her much about their destination, just that they were headed to a place with a better music selection than what was offered at the clubhouse after the wedding. Kyra had performed her duties to the club effortlessly that day, so he figured he'd reward her by sparing her the loud heavy metal at the clubhouse in favor of something that better suited her taste. Juice had only been to T.O.'s bar Deena's, named for his wife of ten years, once or twice, but he remembered that they played the kind of rap and R&B he often heard her listening to around the house. Juice was a bit of a rap fan himself, preferring the hardcore east coast hip-hop of the 90s that flooded his Queens neighborhood when he was a kid: Wu Tang Clan, Notorious BIG, Jay-Z, Nas, and of course Big Pun were all personal favorites of his, but Kyra leaned toward more R&B and mainstream rappers.

When they arrived at the bar, which sat in the middle of Lodi's only predominantly black neighborhood, Kyra was a little hesitant. "Where are we?" she asked, smoothing her hair down after removing her helmet.

"A place where you can dance to something other than Elvis," he answered, holding out his hand for her to grab. Deena's wasn't what anyone would consider fancy, but it wasn't quite a hole in the wall, either. In fact, it almost looked like an enlarged MC clubhouse, which he was sure was a personal touch by T.O.'s wife as a nod to the Bastards. There was a jukebox in the corner that was blasting Too Short's "Blow the Whistle" as they walked through the bar. Juice ditched his colors for the night, but a few of the Grim Bastards recognized him immediately and offered up handshakes and hugs. He returned their greetings and introduced Kyra to them as well.

Tyriq, the Grim Bastards' Sergeant at Arms, let out a low whistle. "Daaaamn. Didn't know Charming had sistas like that," he said, with an appreciative gaze over Kyra's body.

Juice clutched Kyra's palm. "Charming doesn't," he said. "But I do. So put your tongue back in your mouth, dude."

"Ah. My bad, dawg. Definitely not tryna step on your toes," Tryiq turned to Kyra. "You got any sisters?"

Kyra shook her head. "Nope. One of a kind model here," she said, resting her head on Juice's shoulder.

They continued through the crowd until they found two empty seats at the bar. There were three bartenders on duty that night, but Deena was easy to spot. She was the only one that gave off the air of royalty that came with being the wife of an MC President. She was medium height, probably about as tall as Kyra, but older and with more weight on her. It didn't look bad on her. In fact, she had the kind of frame that rappers referred to as "thick," curvier than Kyra, but not flabby and worn out like SAMCRO's sweetbutts. She had deep, chocolate skin and a short pixie-like haircut he'd seen Halle Berry sport in one of her movies. She on a black tank top, revealing her old lady ink: a fist, identical to the one found on the Grim Bastards' cuts, that held a heart with the initials T.O. scrawled in graffiti letters on her right bicep. Juice raised his heavily ringed finger until he caught her eye and she made her way down the bar. "You must be T.O.'s friend from Charming," she said.

Juice wondered how she'd knows without his cut, but then he realized. "Told you to look for a guy with a mohawk?"

Deena nodded. "Yeah. And as you can imagine, we don't get too much brown hangin out in here." She glanced over at Kyra. "This your old lady?"

He nodded. "Deena, this is Kyra. Kyra, Deena. Her old man's the President of the Grim Bastards MC."

"Didn't know Sons had that kinda love for chocolate," Deena said with an impressed nod. "You from Charming?"

Kyra shook her head. "Oakland. Just moved to Charming about seven months ago."

"Well Kyra and Juice, welcome to Deena's. T.O. gave me instructions to take good care of ya'll tonight so drinks are on the house. What can I start you off with?"

Kyra ordered first. "I'll have a double of Malibu with a splash of pineapple juice.

"And I'll take a double of Jack Daniels. Straight."

Deena smiled. "Comin' right up."

A half hour and three drinks later, Juice discovered something new about Kyra. She did like to dance. A lot. Especially when she was under the influence. It started off slowly, with swaying on her stool and mouthing the words to the songs as she sipped her drinks. Then somewhere between drinks two and three, she eased off of the stool, and did a little two-step next to him. She was still in a pretty mellow groove until Lil Jon's voice blared from the jukebox, _"Put a hump in ya back and shake ya rump."_ At that point, all hell broke loose. Kyra threw her hands up in the air, and yelled "Oh shit!" The next thing he knew, he was standing behind her on the dancefloor, trying to keep up as she gyrated in front of him to the tune of Lil Jon screaming _"Bounce that ass, shake it down to the flo'. Shake that shit till ya can't no mo..."_ Juice wasn't a bad dancer at all, but he had no idea what he was supposed to do with her ass shaking against him at such a crazy pace. First of all, where the hell had she learned to do this? And secondly, why didn't he know that she possessed this skill set? Her moves were way more entertaining than anything he'd ever seen at a clubhouse or CaraCara and it took everything in him not to just step back and watch. It was somewhere between incredibly hot and insanely funny. Apparently, it wasn't just Kyra who loved the song, either. The dancefloor was packed with women breaking down similar moves and men standing behind them with appreciative smiles. The entire ordeal reminded him once again of Koz calling Kyra "Beyonce" and in this case, the name definitely fit.

They danced through a few more fast paced songs-or rather she danced and Juice watched-before retreating to a wall in the corner of the bar. They'd lost their seats after Kyra rushed the dance floor, and now that she was all sweaty from her performance, she wanted to prop herself up for a minute and catch her breath. He'd just come back from getting her a bottled water from the bar when he heard a familiar high hat beat drop in the speaker above their heads. A smile of recognition spread across Kyra's face as Notorious BIG's voice boomed _"And another one..."_ Now this was a song Juice knew. She grabbed his hand and pulled his body behind hers against the wall while R. Kelly crooned _"You must beeee used to me spendin. And all that sweeeet winin' and dinin, well I'm fucking you toniiight..."_

"Fuckin You Tonight" was a slow groove he remembered from teenage house parties back in Queens. He recalled moments identical to the present, with him pinned between a wall and some cute girl's ass, trying to sneak and cop less than innocent feels. "Now this is music," he whispered in Kyra's ear with a smile. She answered by throwing her hand behind his neck and backing her ass into him with a slow, easy to follow grind. _"Some say the ex, make the sex spec-tacular. Make me lick ya from neck to ya back and ya, shiverin' tongue deliverin', chills up that spine. That ass is mine..."_ The lyrics combined with her hips winding seductively against him had an intoxicating effect on him. He'd been good all day, cautiously following her lead, but he lost a little self-control with every second of the song. His hands started at her hips, gently tapping to the beat before moving down to the fronts of her thighs. He rubbed there for awhile, tracing up and down the fabric of her sweater. She did a little discreet drop in front of him, pushing her ass further into the crotch of his pants and giving him an immediate hard-on. She was definitely teasing him, and Juice had every intention on making her pay. Both now and later. He stared with a soft peck to the side of her neck and followed up with a quick flick of his tongue to the same spot. She tasted like a mix of sweat and the sweet smelling perfume she saved for special occasions. He then licked a trail up to her earlobe, catching her pearl stud between his teeth and running his tongue along the bottom of her earlobe in his mouth. She did a quick two step and turned to face him as the chorus came back around. Her brow was raised yet there was a sly grin on her face, as if she wanted to say "Really?" Juice answered her expression with a nod and mouthed the words along with R. Kelly, "I'm fucking you toniiiight..." She placed her palms on the wall behind him and he snaked an arm around her waist to pull her body against the trouble she'd started. Now it was her tongue on his neck as his hands traveled down her lower back and palmed her ass. "You know you're in trouble, right?" he whispered against her neck.

"Mmmhm," she hummed behind lips that were pressed on his skin.

In the background, R. Kelly sang _"Fucking you tonight, makin' you feel so right..."_ and Juice smiled. She had absolutely no idea.


	19. Chapter 19

**_A/N: This is a revised version of chapter nineteen. I wrote another short chapter wrapping up the make up session, but decided to put all the smut/make up sex together so I added an extra Kyra section to the end of this chapter. _**

_**Kyra**_

Kyra was high.

Between the emotions from the wedding, the alcohol pumping through her bloodstream, Juice, and the music, her mind was spinning, but in a delicious way that made everything seem so clear. She was out with her man, enjoying his presence in a way that she hadn't since their fight. On top of that, she was at a bar, _dancing_, which she hadn't done since she lived in Sacramento. The circumstances combined had been enough to break down all of her usual reserve, which explained how she'd ended up in the corner of a crowded bar, moaning and nibbling on Juice's ear, while he pressed his hard on against her pelvis. When he reached down and grabbed her ass as if it was his most prized possession, she felt a surge of heat and moisture between her thighs and imagined finding some nearby empty lot, straddling Juice on his bike, and riding him breathless. He'd always had a fetish for fucking her with clothes on when she wore skirts and dresses. Something about the dichotomy of her looking prim and proper while doing dirty things turned him on. Besides, he was getting harder by the minute, so she was sure he'd be down for whatever route led to quicker penetration.

But somewhere between that corner of the bar and settling onto the back of Juice's Dyna, Kyra had an epiphany. The moment was bigger than alcohol-fueled lust. She had finally lifted the cloud of uncertainty in her head. Under normal circumstances, some kinky outdoor action would be perfect, but tonight? She needed more. There'd been enough barriers between them and she didn't want their clothes in the way. She wanted to be naked and feel his slick skin sliding against hers while he pushed inside of her. Wanted to be in _their_ home. In _their _bed. Knocking the chill and awkwardness out of their space with every stroke, every kiss. When he sat down in front of her on the bike, Kyra wrapped her arms around Juice's waist and pressed her lips against his ear. "Hey babe..."

He turned around to look at her over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Let's go home."

He raised a brow, a confused look on his face. "You sure?"

She caressed his abs through the fabric of his button down. Even with cotton in the way, she could feel every ripple under her fingertips and it excited her. Almost made her think twice about riding all the way back to Charming. But then her mind created a visual of a his naked body in the dim light of their bedroom lamp and was back on track. Kyra bit her lip and smiled. "Yeah. Home."

The bed had been her plan, but when they stepped into the apartment, Juice had other ideas. He played it cool for maybe a half a minute, letting her walk in and slide off her boots and shed her leather jacket, but as soon as she laid her jacket across the kitchen table, he was at her, pushing her back against the wall near the counter and eclipsing her mouth with his lips. This wasn't their usual, tease and nibble before diving in routine. No, he was swallowing her breath with every flick of his tongue in her mouth as if she was his only source of oxygen. She felt a moan gather in her throat, but didn't have the air available to release it. Nor did she want it. The kisses were exquisite and if the wall wasn't holding her up, she was sure her knees would buckle. Juice's hands traced the contour of her curves through her dress until his fingertips found the hem and pushed it up. He held the dress up with one hand, while running his fingers up her left thigh with the other. He'd finally released her lips, now kissing a trail up her jaw line and settling on a spot on her neck just below her ear, and the release meant that she could finally breathe through her mouth again. Kyra inhaled sharply as he drew slow torturous circles on her inner thigh, anticipating the pressure of his fingers at her center. When it didn't come immediately, closed her eyes and threw her head back. "Wha-what are you doing to me?" she moaned.

He didn't answer. Just kept flicking his tongue under her ear and teasing her with his barely-there touches. Just when she was ready to grab his wrist and shove his hand between her thighs, she felt two fingers press into her through her undergarmets. This time, her knees did buckle and the fabric between her skin and his fingers was soaked with her reaction. She hissed. "Shiiii-"

"The dress," Juice ordered, tickling around her clit. "Take it off."

Her eyes snapped open and she was faced with the lightning bolt on the left side of his head. His face was still buried in her neck and his fingers were doing a very careful, purposeful dance too close and yet not close enough to where she wanted them to be. Her chest heaved against his and the motion made her realize that she was damn near panting. She closed her mouth and swallowed. _The bed_, she remembered. Her hands, which were closed in fists full of his shirt, opened and laid flat on his shoulders as she slowly pushed away from the wall. She needed to regain some semblance of control, despite how much she wanted to close her thighs around Juice's hand and grind until she saw stars. She ran her hands up his chest and neck until her fingers framed the sides of his face. She titled his head. They were once again face to face and she studied his expression. It wasn't his usual jovial, boyish face. Nor was it a cold hardened glare. He looked...focused. Kyra looked down at his slightly parted lips right before taking the bottom lip between her teeth and guiding their bodies away from the wall. "You want it off?" she cooed between kisses.

He nodded and pressed between her thighs again. _Gotdammit_. Kyra struggled a moment to maintain her balance, but managed to stay upright this time. It took every ounce of restraint in her body, but she pushed Juice until she had enough space to maneuver; still within his reach but far enough that his hands were at his sides instead of on her. She cocked her head and gave him a little grin before pulling the dress over her head and tossing it on the table next to her jacket. She wanted to watch his reaction but she knew in a few seconds he'd try to pin her back against the wall, so she quickly maneuvered around him and walked toward the hallway. "It's off," she said and strutted to the bedroom.

_**Juice**_

Control. That was Juice's aim when he followed Kyra into the bedroom. Not in the brute forceful way he would have used to drill into a Crow Eater, either. While he knew he could please her that way, it wouldn't be to his liking. No, he needed to see her _need_ him. To remind her of just how well he knew her body by tweaking and teasing until she begged for him. It was the only way to erase whatever weird shit they'd been through over the last few weeks from his memory. He'd need a lot of restraint and he realized this when she stripped down and paraded by him in black lace and fishnets. Then she threw in her little cocky Kyra-esque quip, "It's off." Juice smiled, in spite of himself. She was so fucking hot. _Hold it together man_.

That was easier said than done.

Kyra was naked and squirming beneath him, her face twisted in an expression that he interpreted as a mix of torture and pleasure. Just the way he wanted it. He was poised above her on his knees, holding her right leg up and licking the sensitive spot behind her knee. His other hand was occupied, dipping two fingers into and out of her with short, quick strokes that grazed her G-spot. It was just enough keep her wet, as she was literally leaking onto his fingers, but none of the deeper penetration that would satisfy her. The struggle was written all over her face: liking it but needing more and it amused the hell out of him. That amusement was the only thing keeping the desire to be inside of her at bay.

His fingers kept their careful pace while his tongue moved up the inside of her thigh. He eased down off of his knees, bending her knee over his shoulder, and inched closer to her dripping folds. Kyra's hands were on his shoulders, kneading his muscles, and when he blew on a spot right below her opening, she dug her fingers into his skin and moaned. Juice knew exactly what she wanted, but he was still playing his game. He skipped over her center and placed his lips on the inside of her left thigh. "Where do you want my tongue, Kyra?" he asked against her smooth dark caramel skin.

The question must have caught her off guard because she stuttered. "Wha-what?"

"My tongue," he replied, flicking the spot for emphasis. "Where do you want it? Show me." He moved his fingers out of the way and watched her hand slide down her stomach. With two fingers, she settled on her clit. "Show me how you want it," he commanded.

"Ju-," she could barely get his name out and her frustration made him smile against her thigh. "Qui—mmm—quit playin'"

_Not on your life_, he thought. "Rub it," he ordered. And she did. She slid her fingers down to her crevice, rubbed the slick wetness back up to her clit, and went to work on herself, pressing down with circular strokes. Juice kept kissing and nibbling on her thigh as he watched her show. She was totally hairless down there, so smooth skin and juices were all he saw. He was lost in the spectacle when his dick started throbbing; reminding him that he wouldn't be able to hold off forever. _Fuck. Focus! _She was moaning again, and arching her back off the mattress as if she was nearing a finish. "Uh-uh, no you don't," he said, pushing her fingers away.

"_Gotdammit!"_ she screamed. _"Why—"_ but before she could get the words out, his tongue was on her, imitating exactly what she'd done with her fingers. He started at her opening, pressing his tongue down flat and then licked up the folds until the tip of his tongue landed on her clit. When he repeated her demonstration, Kyra lost it, squeezing his ears with her thighs and bucking against his face. His original plan was to not let her cum until he was inside her, but he'd never seen her so desperate and wound up before and it made him a little crazy. If he didn't let her get this one off, he wouldn't be worth a damn once he finally put it in. He decided to let her have it. He eased two fingers inside of her while he worked her clit with his tongue. Her thighs quivered and tightened their grip on his head. She'd never been a screamer, but she was already moaning more than he'd ever heard, which made him wonder how she'd sound when he gave her what she wanted. He curled his fingers up, applying the pressure her body had been craving for the last ten minutes, and she exploded all over his fingers, releasing a sound that registered somewhere between a wail and a scream.

Juice didn't give her any time to recover. Instead he moved up the length of her body until he was on top of her, his hardness rubbing against her wet thigh. Her facial expression was classic; eyes and mouth wide open while she panted, coming down from her climax. He planted a soft kiss on her lips before flicking them with his tongue, depositing some of her taste there. She was still dazed when he positioned pelvis directly on top of hers and pushed down. "You feel that?" he whispered into her collarbone. "Huh?"

Speechless, Kyra nodded and moaned in response.

The moist heat between them was starting to get the best of him. He needed to be inside of her sooner than later. "Tell me you want it."

She'd regained some of her control, because now she was grinding under him, sliding her juices up and down his shaft. "I—" she croaked at first. "I want it."

He leaned up, letting his head touch her point of entry, and eased inside of her. _Just a little bit longer, man, _he thought as he closed his eyes and tried to distract himself from how snug and warm she felt. He went in halfway and applied short strokes. _Fuck!_ Why was he doing this to himself? He looked down at her face and saw what he imagined was a mirror of his own frustration.

"All of it," she moaned. "Please…I-"

_Please_. That was all Juice needed to hear. He pushed his length inside of her with one hard thrust and they both moaned with relief. There was no more working up to a certain pace. He went at her with long, hard, deep strokes, just how she liked it. Her legs locked around his waist and she clawed at his back, leaving scratches all up and down his barely-healed Reaper ink. He'd come a long way from their first time when her tightness almost overwhelmed him, but even though he knew how to last, he wasn't sure how long he'd make it. The anticipation he'd built was designed to drive Kyra insane but he'd pushed himself to the brink along the way and now he was on fire, pounding into her with a force that rocked the entire bed.

Kyra was with him, thrust for thrust, throwing his force back at him with every push of her hips. He'd worked up a sweat within minutes and their slippery bodies almost threw off their rhythm. She was so _tight_ as if he hadn't been inside her in weeks. Her grip made every single downstroke an exercise in restraint. _Jesus Christ. _ He wouldn't last much longer at this rate. He had to speed this along.

He slid a hand down the back of her thigh and pushed it up. Kyra obliged, unlocking her ankles and letting her knee fall next to her shoulder. "Oh! Shit…my God" she moaned as Juice deepened his stroke.

"It's okay babe," Juice urged. "Let it go." Her hands flew up to the headboard, gripping the back of the wood panel while her eyes rolled back. "Shit-Juice—I'm almost…" she sputtered.

He gripped her waist and plunged as deep as he could go. The shaking started in her thighs, and before he knew it, her entire body was quaking against him. She threw her head back and screamed a string of unintelligible curses while her walls contracted around him with a pace resembling a manic heartbeat. The pulsating spurred the stirring at the pit of his stomach while he drove into her and he finally let go. _"Fuuuuuuuck," _he whispered before collapsing on top of her.

They laid there a moment, both riding out the residual shivers from their climaxes in silence. Juice was the first to speak. "Gotdamn…"

"Dude…" Kyra said. "I'm not even…I ain't fuckin' with you _no more_."

He chuckled. The cold front was officially over. That was Kyra-speak for "Good job." "Guess that means I put it down, huh?"

She propped herself up on her elbow and crinkled up her nose. "Since when do you say 'put it down?'"

He'd said it without thinking, but she was right. He'd definitely just used one of her catch phrases. "Since I just had you calling my name and grabbing the headboard," he shot back. "What's that song you're always singing? _I bet the neighbors know my name…_" he sang.

"Okay," she said, lying down on his chest. "No more R&B or black clubs for you. You're getting out of hand with this slang."

Juice wrapped his arm around her shoulder and smiled. _This_ was the Kyra James he knew and loved. He was happy to have her back.

_**Kyra**_

She'd had enough sex to last at least three days. That was the conclusion that Kyra reached at about 2:00pm the Sunday morning after Opie and Lyla's wedding while she soaked in a tub full of hot water. She'd planned to do her cleaning ritual, which had been thrown off by the wedding, and then get into the books for a couple of hours, but making up with Juice threw a huge, yet delicious wrench into that plan. Instead of studying in a spotless apartment, she was just now rolling out of bed after going another two rounds with Juice that morning. Words couldn't describe how good he'd made her feel the night before and God only knew she was thankful to finally have real orgasms after two weeks, but her competitive spirit hated that he'd bested her, especially after his "Neighbors Know My Name" quip.

She woke up that morning a little sore, with his hands tangled in her loose hair. Kyra could count on one hand the times she'd fallen asleep without wrapping her hair, but she'd been so spent that hair was the last thing on her mind. She recalled the mind-blowing romp from the night before and was suddenly determined to pay him back; taking him in her mouth to wake him up and then riding him until his eyes rolled back. Twice. Even though she loved letting him take control, every now and then she got off knowing she held such power over a guy people saw as muscle-bound and dangerous. He'd shot people. Done time. And yet with a rock of her hips, she could render him completely helpless. Afterward, she stayed awake just long enough to hear his heavy breaths turn into snores. With a cocky smirk, she settled onto his side and nodded off again.

Now she was up for the day, stretched out in the tub, letting the hot water soothe her well-earned body aches. She'd washed her hair, which had been ruined by sweat and the dust for the ride to Lodi, and pulled it back into a wet bun at the nape of her neck. She took deep breaths, inhaling the lavender-scented steam from the water and exhaling the stress of the last few weeks. Her mind was almost clear, save for the vivid images of make-up sex that popped up every few minutes, but she didn't mind those at all. In fact, they helped relax her even more. With the wedding over and things back on track with Juice, she only had to worry about her exams. _Fuck_. The exams that she wasn't studying for because she was recuperating from having her back blown out. As soon as her bath was over, she'd throw on some sweats and sequester herself in her study room with bottled water and snacks.

Kyra was still in the tub, halfway between relaxation and sleep, when Juice knocked on the door. "You're not doing some secret girl shit that I'm not supposed to see right now, are you?" he inquired.

She sighed and shook her head. By "secret girl shit" he meant waxing. As if he didn't manscape religiously. _Gotta love this guy_, she thought. "No babe. Just takin' a bath."

He opened the door. "Okay good. Cuz I gotta piss like a racehorse," he said, whipping out his dick and lifting the toilet seat with rapid fire speed. Kyra looked up at the closed bathroom door while he relieved himself and studied the reflection of the tat on his back. It was as massive and intimidating as tattoos could get. On any other man, she'd have found such a display unattractive, but on Juice, it was perfect; an almost direct contradiction to his boyish face. For her it was symbolic of his nature: sweet and doting, yet fierce and strong. She watched the muscles under the "SONS OF ANARCHY" lettering under his shoulder blades flex while he shook himself dry and wondered what it'd be like to see the entire tattoo in motion; wanted to wrap her legs around his waist and watch the Reaper come alive with every thrust of his hips. _Shit. _Wasn't she tired and aching? And didn't she have studying to do? She should have ignored the stirring between her legs and let Juice walk out of the bathroom, but before she could stop herself, she spoke. "Hey babe," she called to him before he could reach the bathroom door.

He turned his head. "Wassup?"

Kyra stood up in the tub, letting the water roll down her naked body. "Not so fast."

Two minutes later, she was perched on the bathroom room sink, with Juice standing between her legs, clenching her thighs while he pushed inside of her. Her eyes were glued to full-length mirror on the bathroom door, watching Juice and his Reaper go to work. It took everything in her power not to wrap her arms around his torso and cling to him, but she didn't want to obstruct her view of his muscles gliding under all that ink. It was...nothing short of beautiful. When he increased his pace, she was forced to wrap at least one hand around him to brace herself and her palm landed at the bottom of the Reaper's staff. Her mind was racing. _God...I...I love him. _And she did. Both Juan Carlos; the kind, adoring, goofball pretty boy and Juice; the gun-toting biker who'd lay down his life to protect her. When the last wave of what was her fifth orgasm in a span of 18 hours subsided, she framed Juice's face in her hands and looked into his eyes.

He planted a peck on her chin, his brows knitted with concern. "You okay?"

Kyra stroked his cheek. "I love you. I know-the last couple of weeks…" She bit her lip, suddenly, overcome with guilt for how she'd treated him. "I'm sorry."

Juice traced a finger down her back. "It's okay. I gave you plenty of reasons. But you know I love you, right? We're good now?"

She nodded. "We're perfect."

He pulled her close, until her naked body was pressed against his chest, and kissed her. It was soft and sweet, and it took her back to their first kiss, six months ago in the parking lot of her apartment building. The kiss deepened and just like the first time, she felt tingles all the way down to her toes. They carried on that way until she felt him swell inside her again. _Okay, _she said to herself, _just one more round…_


	20. Chapter 20

_**Kyra**_

Anyone who drove by Teller-Morrow would have mistaken its activity for normal pre-run festivities. The lot was cluttered, as usual, with a throng of bikers, women, and wannabes. There were more patches in the sea of people than usual, with the Fresno, Rogue River, and Tacoma charters also down for the trip. The grayness in the sky was uncharacteristic for Charming, even in December, and the chill that whipped through the air was no doubt cruel to the scantily clad Sons of Anarchy fans hoping to scope out an Old Man among the visiting charters. Kyra tightened the belt on her navy blue trench coat, hoping to absorb some heat from the lining while she scanned the crowd for Juice. He was in there, somewhere, his face no doubt tense with dread. He was about to embark on something more than a routine run, and the fact that she was in the know about what SAMCRO would face when they arrived in Vegas left her unnerved, but secure. Secure, because Juice stayed true to his "no secrets" promise by telling her the purpose of the trip. Unnerved, because that purpose was death.

Since their make-up session, Kyra and Juice had started a new routine when he came home from work: she'd take a thirty minute break from her CPA studies to veg out on the couch with him and watch Jeopardy. The previous evening, they'd been cuddled on the couch when his prepay shrieked as Alec announced Final Jeopardy. Kyra slid off of his chest and settled on the other end of the couch; her practice whenever the prepay rang because the words said on the line weren't meant for her ears. She curled her feet under her tailbone while contemplating who was the Notable Woman "Denied a college education in her own country but became the first woman in France to earn her doctorate in 1913." She heard a few one-word replies from Juice before he snapped the phone shut and ran his hands over his face with a heavy sigh. He hopped up from the couch. "I gotta go."

The tone in his voice told her something wasn't right, but the way he'd rushed to the bedroom for his cut and holster told her he didn't have time to answer a lot of questions, so she asked the one she deemed most important. "You comin' back tonight?"

He appeared from the back of the house, donning his leather and a creased forehead. "It's gonna be a late one, but yeah." He pecked her cheek and raced out of the door before she could utter another word. Something was wrong.

Juice confirmed it when he returned four hours later. He walked into the bedroom and his facial expression had changed; less worried, more focused. The same look he'd had the night of the break-in. Kyra knew to tread lightly. Even though they were in this newer, more honest phase of their relationship, she still had to play by the rules. She couldn't be the worried girlfriend right now. She flipped into dutiful old lady mode. "I'm headed to the kitchen," she lied. "You need anything?"

He threw his cut over the headboard and slipped out of his holster. "Nope."

When she returned with a bottle of water, she stopped in the bedroom doorway; taking a moment to survey the room. Juice was still fully clothed with his feet planted on the floor; his upper body stretched horizontally across the bed, blowing weed smoke at the ceiling. _This is not good. _"You ready to talk about it?" He patted the space next to him on the bed and she sat down, making a mental note to check her facial expressions. What this conversation didn't need was a dramatic reaction, no matter what the news was. "Wassup?" she asked.

He sat up and offered her the joint. She held up her hand to refuse, but he shook his head. "Trust me. You'll need it."

_Here we go. _She took the white paper between her fingertips and took a short pull. "Talk," she said through a small smoke cloud.

"The President of our Vegas charter, Bishop, got taken out tonight."

_Bishop...Bishop..._ The name didn't ring a bell. She couldn't recall Juice ever mentioning him, but still. If one of his brothers, even from another charter, had been killed, it was a big deal. "Jesus, Juan, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

His expression was blank. "I didn't know him that well. Saw him on some runs here and there. But when one of us goes, it's always a reminder that..."

_...that it could be anyone of you,_ Kyra finished his sentence in her head. "What happened to him?"

"Vegas had some beef with some Mexi pricks. Stupid shit. They let it escalate too far and..." Juice squeezed her knee. "Anyway, we're riding out for Vegas in the morning. Retaliation. It could get bloody."

_We're riding out in the morning_. As in tomorrow. As in two days before Christmas. The day after the wedding, they were in bed, bombarded by holiday commercials on TV, when it dawned on them that they hadn't thought about how they'd celebrate. On an impulse, they went to Wal-mart and bought a rinky dink 4' pre-decorated tree that currently stood in the corner next to the couch. She had three new Xbox 360 games for him, wrapped in Neeta's closet and waiting for Christmas morning. She hadn't given a damn about the holiday all season and now that they'd committed to acknowledge it... "How long will you be gone?"

He sighed. "Two, maybe three days. Babe, I'm so sorry. I know we said we'd-"

"It's fine," Kyra lied.

"You sure?"

_You're running off to fucking Vegas to possibly be killed two days before Christmas. Why the fuck would that be fine with me? _"I understand. You gotta do what you gotta do." That wasn't a lie. Even if she didn't _like_ it, she understood. Rules were rules. And the assassination of a charter president couldn't go unanswered. She grabbed his hand. "I'll be alright."

Sleep didn't improve her outlook on the trip. The cold, dreary day and quiet anxiety that engulfed her surroundings didn't help much either. She stood with Tara, Gemma, and Lyla; each woman wearing a negative emotion on her face. Gemma's face was straight and stern, as she sucked on her joint and followed Clay across the lot with her gaze. Lyla stood, arms folded and eyes wide with concern. Tara's green eyes were narrow, her kind twinkle replaced with irritation. "This is bullshit," she spat into the silence. The women's eyes all darted toward her, with Gemma shooting daggers. "Watch it," the Queen warned.

"I'm sorry. But this is the second goddamned Christmas in a row that my sons are spending _without _their father. Excuse me if I'm not thrilled."

Gemma scoffed. "Oh give me a break. Abel and Tommy don't know Christmas from any other day. You celebrate when he gets back. They won't know the difference."

Tara rolled her eyes. "Yeah," She turned toward the mass of bikers and muttered under her breath. "When."

Kyra shook her head. She understood Tara's anger. Shit, she was just as pissed, but she didn't need to feed those emotions right now. Not when Juice was about to ride off into some life or death scenario. And she damn sure didn't want any parts of whatever Queen/Princess death match was about to go down between Gemma and Tara.

"Unless you want that pissy little frown to be the last thing Jax sees before he leaves, I suggest you pull your shit together. Quickly." Gemma threw the last of her joint to the ground and stomped it out. "C'mon. Looks like they're saddling up."

_Saddle_. Like they were living a western. Gemma led the way for the three younger women and the crowd seemingly parted in reverence as they walked through. Harleys growled to life around them, waiting for SAMCRO to load up and lead them out of the lot. Kyra remembered the night Juice was shot, when she hid the anxiety that pumped through her veins to put on a brave face for Gemma, and summoned some of that strength. It'd been absent in the recent weeks as she muddled though her feelings for Juice, but making her way through the crowd, she knew what she had to do. This moment wasn't about _her_ fear. It was about keeping his head in the game. Sure, she was pissed about Christmas and terrified for his life, but bombarding him with her emotions would only distract him. She needed him focused, so he could execute the task at hand and get back to her.

He'd just snuffed out a cigarette when she reached him. He was wearing his game face and she took comfort in that. Juice was nobody's bitch. He'd survived everything The Life had thrown at him thus far, and they certainly hadn't endured all the bullshit of the last few weeks for him to leave her now. _He's got this_, she told herself. _He's got this. He's got this. He's got this. _Kyra grabbed his hand. "Hey you."

He gave her a small grin, showing a hint of Juan Carlos just behind his eyes and pulled her into a tight embrace. "Hey back," he said into her ear. She stepped back and they kissed, deeper than a hello, yet not long enough for a good-bye. _My man is coming home to me. I won't kiss him like he's not._

Juice broke the kiss and searched her eyes. "You gonna be okay?"

"Be better when you make it back to me, but I'll survive in the meantime."

"I love you."

She pulled him in for another kiss, letting her tongue trace around the insides of his lips before drawing back. "I love you too. Be safe."

He placed two quick taps on her butt and let her go. "Always," he said, settling on his Dyna.

"Hey!" she called over the roar of his bike. "Christmas Day, I wanna hear from you. Hell, high water, whatever. Unless you're mid-shoot out, I need to hear your voice."

"Yes ma'am."

The Harleys revved up in a deafening symphony. Kyra stepped back, joining the other SAMCRO women to watch helplessly as their men rode off to battle. _He's got this, _she said again. She didn't know if she meant Juice or the God Neeta prayed to, but she repeated it until Juice disappeared into formation and drove off the lot.

Tara had rounds at the hospital, so her Cutlass left TM right after the guys did. Lyla had to make sure Kenny, Ellie, and Piper hadn't torn up the house in the brief hour that she'd left them alone. Kyra and Gemma were left in the lot with the onlookers, both deep in thought and staring at the rail where the boys' bikes had been parked. "Got time for a cup of coffee or does Elliott need you right away?"

Kyra looked down at her watch. Most of the office, Elliott included, was away on Christmas vacations. "I've got some time."

She joined Gemma at the bar in the clubhouse. The common room was quiet with the exception of combat boots dragging across the hardwood floor. The boots belonged to a young Crow Eater, Kyra guessed no older than twenty-three. She was surprisingly perky for a woman in The Life, and covered up, too; dressed in tight Levi's that were ripped all the way up to the crotch and a cut-off shirt that revealed a smooth, flat creamy white belly. Her long, black hair was tossed up in a messy bun on top of her head with wayward strands falling around her face. "Can I get ya something, Gem?" she asked.

"Coffee. Black. Two sugars."

She turned to Kyra. "And you?"

Kyra had seen this before, Crow Eaters waiting on Gemma and Tara hand and foot, but she figured that came with their titles as Queen and Princess of the charter. She didn't think the courtesy was extended to the Old Ladies of non-officers. It was the second time that day she'd noticed the respect she received as Juice's woman. She'd picked up on the MC pecking order pretty quickly, but she'd never considered the magnitude of being an Old Lady in the Mother Charter of an international organization until that crowd parted for her and the other women in the lot today. "I'll take mine with heavy cream and three sugars, please."

The young girl shuffled toward the kitchen. "Sure thing, sweetheart."

Gemma lit a cigarette. "You seem to be handling all this pretty well. Either you're tougher than I thought or you're full of shit."

"I'd say I fall somewhere in the middle of that spectrum." Kyra paused. Gemma was the last person she needed be vulnerable with, but the words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Real talk? I'm scared out of my fuckin' mind. But I think about it and I realize that being scared won't keep a bullet out of Juice's head, so what's the point? Gotta learn to get used to this shit, right?"

The Queen nodded. "Smart way to think about it, but honey, you _never_ get used to this shit. Not really. You try not to let the fear overwhelm you, cause like you said, it doesn't bring your man home any sooner. You adjust to the late nights, skipped holidays, laundry that reeks of pussy. But your heart will _always_ stop beating, just for a second, when they suit up. Or when you see one of those prepay numbers pop up in your phone. Just comes with the territory. But then again, I tend to get a little _proactive_ in solving the shit that worries me."

_So I've heard_, Kyra thought as they were presented with two steaming cups of coffee. She nodded at the Crow Eater as a gesture of gratitude. "So, Bishop. How old was he?"

"He was younger than me. About forty-four, forty-five. Been patched since he was twenty or so."

"He have any family?"

"Yup. Wife and two teenage girls," Gemma sipped her coffee. "Jesus, Darlene's gotta be out of her mind right now."

Kyra wondered how Darlene reacted to the news? Had it come in a phone call? Did they summon her to the clubhouse? The hospital? The morgue? She shook her head in an effort to clear the thoughts from her imagination. "So what happens to Darlene and her kids?"

"Vegas will take care of them. Look after Darlene until she's able to get back on her feet. Protect their family for as long as they need it. Just like SAMCRO would do for you or Tara or Lyla. We're family. It's what we do."

_We're family._ Had Gemma Teller-Morrow really just referred to her as family? Did that mean all the hazing and probationary shit was over? "Oh _we_ are, huh?"

Gemma rolled her eyes. "I didn't take you as the type who needs validation."

"I didn't take me as the type to take up with a gang of outlaw bikers either, and yet here I am." Kyra paused. "No but really, Gemma. Thanks."

"Don't thank me. Just don't screw up. Somehow, you've managed to do the impossible and make a man out of our little doofus. You keep him on that path and we won't have any problems."

Kyra nodded slowly and the two women sipped their coffee in silence while the Crow Eater in the combat boots straightened up the mess left by the visitors. She made Kyra curious. She was used to older, flabby, worn-down chicks shoving their saggy tits in Juice's face, hoping for attention. This youthful, perky looking thing was another story.

"Don't worry about that one."

"Huh?" Kyra said, diverting her eyes back to her coffee cup.

"Mel," Gemma replied. "She's only got eyes for the Prospect. Besides, after the way you rearranged the last whore's face, you don't have too much to worry about around here. They all think they still look like prom queens. They're not gonna fuck that up over a dick they can't claim." She finished the last of her coffee. "I need you to stop by my place sometime tomorrow. I'm sure Clay's gonna want me to drive down for the funeral once the smoke clears and I want to take some food down for Darlene. I'll need your help in the kitchen."

_I swear, 90% of this old lady shit is cooking. _"I'll see you tomorrow."

Kyra arrived at Gemma's at noon. She hadn't anticipated getting there so early, but she'd been up since 6:00 AM; studying, cleaning up, washing and straightening her hair. By eleven, there was nothing left to do in her apartment but watch TV and try not to stare at her phone waiting to hear from Juice. He'd sent a text to let her know he arrived safely in Vegas, but after that, radio silence. Of course she didn't expect hourly updates; she just needed to stay occupied to keep her mind from wandering. He was handling business. He'd call when he could. She repeated those thoughts to herself while she threw on blue jeans, a grey OId Navy hoodie, and a pair of black Chuck Taylors that she rarely ever wore. Checking out her reflection, she looked more like a college student than a grown woman, but who cared?

She stopped at Walmart to pick up ingredients and a disposable baking pan for her broccoli casserole. It was perfect for feeding large crowds and she figured Darlene and her kids would be able to dine on it for a few days. Poor Darlene. Kyra didn't even know the woman, but could feel her pain from hundreds of miles away. She'd probably cooked Bishop dinner and sent him off to the boys with a kiss, like she did every night, never suspecting that it'd be the last time. What if something had happened to Juice while they were fighting? How would she have lived with herself knowing she wasted their last moments together being angry? No wonder MC women clung so desperately to their men. Knowing he could catch a bullet on any given night kept things in perspectives. Some fights really weren't worth having in the grand scheme of things. Going forward, she'd have to get wiser about the battles she picked.

Gemma was already up and covered in flour when she answered the door for Kyra. "Morning."

"It's twelve."

"Really?" Gemma glanced over the door at the clock on the wall. "Shit. I haven't looked at the clock in hours."

Kyra walked into the kitchen, inhaling what smelled like pie crust. "You're baking pie?"

"Yeah. Pumpkin. Figured I'd get the easy stuff out of the way before I tackle the large dishes. What'd you bring?"

"I'm making my broccoli casserole for them."

"Good," Gemma nodded. "These pies are going to be a minute, so you can have a seat. I've got a pot of coffee on and there are bagels in the pantry if you're hungry."

Kyra didn't want to be still, but hanging out at Gemma's beat sitting in the lonely quiet of her apartment. "You heard from Clay?"

"Nothing this morning. He called last night to let me know they made it to Vegas. What about you? Talked to Juice?"

"Just a text when he got to Vegas."

"Well," Gemma said, stirring what Kyra guessed was pie-filling in a bowl. "When it comes to these kind of runs, no news is good news."

Gemma's pies finished baking about forty-five minutes later and she and Kyra got to work in the kitchen. Slicing, stirring, sifting and rolling to the soundtrack of classic rock Christmas carols. This wasn't like the previous times they'd shared a kitchen, making small talk to fill the space. They were both deep in concentration; lulling their minds with the busy work to keep them from running all over the place. They'd come a long way from their former tension and awkwardness to this comfort and quiet. At around 2:00 pm, Tara came over with a sleeping Tommy in her arms and Abel walking next to her. As soon as Abel spotted Gemma, he screamed "Gammy!"

"He's been calling for you since we got in the car," Tara said as the toddler wobbled over to Gemma and grabbed her legs. Gemma beamed at her grandson, mussing his sandy blonde hair before swooping him up in her arms and planting a kiss on his cheek. "That's my big boy!"

"He's having a hard time wrapping his mind around what to call who," Tara said with a smile. "He knows I'm 'Mama' but calls Jax, 'Jax.' I can't tell if 'Gammy' is his way of saying 'Gemma,' 'Grammy' or some combination of the two. And Tommy is 'Butter.'"

"Butter?" Kyra asked.

"Yeah. He hasn't quite got 'Brother' yet either."

Gemma tickled Abel's stomach, causing him to giggle and throw his head onto her shoulder. "Not that I mind any excuse to see my grandsons, but I know you didn't stop by to help cook."

"I can lend a hand on the cutting board," Tara answered. "I just figured, even if the boys don't know it's a holiday, we can still…"

"…be with family."

"Yeah."

"Well, once you get him settled, the cutting board is all yours, Doc."

A few minutes later, Tommy was napping in a playpen that Tara pulled from the living room, while Abel played on the floor in the dining room with his toy trucks. The three women worked in the kitchen; Tara cutting vegetables, Gemma browning ground beef for stuffing, and Kyra mixing casserole batter. Whatever issues Gemma and Tara had at the lot the day before were placed in the rearview, with the two alternating baby-watching duties and smiling whatever adorable thing Abel said or did. He already showed signs of the infamous Teller charm and like his father, had Mama and Gammy wrapped around his chubby little fingers.

Kyra had just put her casserole in the oven when Gemma's doorbell rang again. This time, it was Lyla, with Ellie in tow.

"Where are the boys?" Gemma asked.

"Off with Piney doing guy stuff. Fishing or hunting or something," Lyla placed two grocery bags on the counter. "Anyway, I knew you were either cooking for when the guys get back or wanting to send food down to Vegas so I figured I'd stop by and help."

Kyra raised a brow. She couldn't remember seeing Lyla cook anything before.

Lyla read the suspicion in her face. "I do cook, you know. I have three kids and a husband who's built like a linebacker." She emphasized "husband" with the enthusiasm of a newlywed. "I can't feed them all from the microwave."

"Why don't you start some spaghetti?" Gemma interjected. "I've already got Tara cutting some vegetables, and there should be some Ragu or Prego in one of these pantries. Ellie, you can help Tara with the cutting."

Ellie tossed her long blond hair off of her shoulders. Kyra didn't know exactly how old she was, but she could tell she'd inherited Opie's height and would be tall for her age. "Why do I have to work?"

Lyla's bright blue eyes turned to slits. "Ellie…"

Gemma took over. "Because you're part of this family. And women in _this_ family don't get to sit on their asses when the club needs help."

Ellie turned to Lyla for back up, but she wouldn't have it. "You heard her, Ellie. Wash your hands and go help Tara. Now."

Kyra, who'd been silent during the whole exchange, shook her head. Her mother would've slapped her into the middle of next week for talking back like that. _Girls_. She looked over at Tara, who looked like she wanted to thank God for giving her boys, and it dawned on her that she was the only woman in the room who _didn't_ have children. Did she want to have kids with Juice? Hell, did she want to have kids at all? From what she'd observed in SAMCRO, she was nowhere near ready for kids yet, by herself or with Juice for that matter. It was one thing for her to choose MC life with Juice. Forcing it on a kid who had no choice in the matter was something different. Kyra knew how it felt to lose a parent as a young woman. She wouldn't have wished that pain on anyone, especially not children of her own.

She was lost in her thoughts when she heard Tara exclaim "Oh, Jesus Christ, Gemma, can you turn that off?"

"The hell are you talking about?" As soon as the question left Gemma's, Bon Jovi wailed through the radio _"Pleeease come home for Christmas. If not for Christmas, by New Years Niiiiight."_

"Oh shit." Gemma reached across the counter and killed the volume on the radio. The women were silent, but Kyra could hear the realization come crashing down around all of their heads. Their men were away for the holiday and no one knew for sure when, or if, they'd all be back.

Lyla spoke. "So has anyone heard anything today?"

Kyra, Gemma, and Tara all shook their heads. "Trust me. You don't want to hear anything right now," Gemma answered and Kyra suddenly understood what had drawn them all to Gemma's house: No one wanted to be alone if her phone rang with the worst case scenario. They were in this waiting period together, just like their men were in Vegas. The thought wasn't enough to ease all of Kyra's fears, but it did provide a small sense of comfort. She could make do with comfort. After all, she didn't have a choice.


	21. Chapter 21

**_A/N: Hey everybody! Loved the comments on the last chapter. I really wanted to show the parallel of how Kyra handled Juice's run to Vegas versus his run in the earlier chapter so I'm glad that some of you caught that. Also, the female dynamics are a huge deal to me, especially where Gemma is concerned. I wanted to see the ladies band together in a realistic way, so that it wasn't too BFFish, but it still drove home the fact that these women have a real bond. _**

**_Winding down toward the end now. I'm thinking maybe one more chapter and an epilogue. Don't worry. I'm playing around with a shorter fic that delves more into Juice's history, as well as few one shots. _**

**_Enjoy. Share. Review. And thanks for reading!_**

**_Kyra_**

The first phone call Kyra received Christmas morning was an offer from Neeta to attend church with her.

"You sure you don't want to come to service with me? I don't like you spending Christmas alone."

_Damn sure wouldn't be the first time_, Kyra thought. There were two years between her mother's death and Neeta's release from prison that she'd spent Christmas in her apartment in Sacramento, crying her eyes out, eating Chinese food, and trying to avoid all holiday television programming. "Thanks for the offer, Neeta, but I'll be okay. I told Tara I'd volunteer to help her in the children's ward at St. Thomas today. Just call me when you get out of church so I can drop off your present."

"Okay baby. Merry Christmas. Love you."

"Love you too. Merry Christmas."

Kyra hung up the phone and checked the time. 10:00 AM. Still no word from or about Juice. With a heavy sigh, she rolled out of bed. She was due to meet Tara at the hospital in an hour, and even though it was only ten minutes away, she got no satisfaction from lounging around in bed. She was mid-yawn when she heard the phone ring again. She knew it wasn't Juice, since he had his own ringtone. The screen read "Tara." Her heart stopped. What if she had bad news? Not answering the phone won't make it any less true. "Hello?"

"Jax just called. They're okay."

Kyra didn't realize she was holding her breath until she exhaled enough breath to blow up a balloon. "Thank _God_. He mention when they'll be back?"

"He said they still have loose ends to tie up this morning, but they should be back tonight."

Kyra fell back on the bed and closed her eyes. _Maybe I should go to church with Neeta. Thank Jesus personally..._

"You still there?" Tara asked.

"Yeah. I'm here. Just..."

"Relieved. I know. So what time can I expect you at the hospital?"

"I'm getting up now. Gimme about an hour."

If Kyra had anything to say about it, she and Juice would not procreate any time soon. She made this decision an hour and a half into the Christmas party in the children's ward of St. Thomas. The kids' physical limitations didn't allow them to run rampant as most children would. What they lacked in physical energy, however, they made up for with chattiness and curiosity. As an only child and the last born in the James bloodline, she hadn't spent an extended amount of time around children as an adult, but she was getting an education today. The main lesson: kids asked questions. Lots of them. A dollar for every who, what, how come, and why she heard that morning would have been half of a down payment on a house.

She'd just delivered a platter of Christmas cookies to a table of enthusiastic six and seven year olds when Tara approached her, wearing a reindeer antler headband and a red Rudolph nose. "Wow," Kyra said. "We should send a pic to Jax. I'm sure he'll come racing home from Vegas for all this sexiness."

"If we weren't surrounded by impressionable children, I'd flip you the bird right now," the doctor replied with a smile. "How you doing over here?"

"Ready to have you take me in one of these operating rooms and sterilize me," she glanced over at Lyla reading to a circle of wide, attentive eyes. "No, but really. I have new found respect for mothers. How do you do this _every single day_?"

"It's different when they're yours. Just wait."

"That'll be a loooong wait."

"We'll see. Well, if you need a more laid-back bunch, the teenagers are easier to handle. A little angsty, but they're quiet."

Kyra looked around and noticed a lone boy with the color of Dove Dark Chocolate, seated in a corner with earbuds in his ears. He looked about twelve or thirteen with a slender build that was a little on the lanky side. She wondered how often people assumed he played basketball based on his race and build. He had a notepad in front of him and she couldn't tell if it was writing or drawing that had his total concentration. She was on her way to sit down next to him when her phone started singing Aaliyah's verse from "Back in One Piece.," _"I know you'd kill for me, you'd die for me. I know you like to rip and run the streets..." _Juice's ringtone. She yanked her phone out of the front pocket of her candy striper's uniform. "Hey," she answered.

"Merry Christmas, babe." His voice was heavy with fatigue, but she could hear that he was smiling just a little.

"Merry Christmas. You okay out there?"

"I'm good. Fucking exhausted, but I'm whole. How about you? Man, I hate that I can't be there..."

He missed her. It was such a small thing. Of course, her man should miss her while he was away, but something about the way he expressed his regret made her heart flutter. He sounded so sincere. "I'm fine. Me and Lyla are helping Tara in the children's ward today. You know, generating some good SAMCRO PR like good little Old Ladies."

"Ha. I don't think there's enough volunteer shit in the world... But I'm glad you're with the girls. I didn't want you at home alone today."

Kyra leaned against the wall and surveyed the room. There were parents, hospital staff, and children everywhere. "I'm definitely _not_ alone. By the way, you're not thinking about kids anytime soon, are you?"

He couged like he'd choked on his spit. "Huh? Why? Shit, you're not pregnant, are you?"

She couldn't help but laugh. There was her answer. He was as freaked out at the thought as she was. "No babe. No little James-Ortizes in the oven. I was just... You know what, don't even worry about it."

"You sure? Because I can-"

"Babe! I'm not. I promise. Just get home already."

He paused on the other end. "Um okay..."

"Love you."

"Love you too. See you soon."

She was grinning from ear to ear when she sat down next to the young boy with the notepad. He looked up at her, distracted by the shadow she cast over his drawing, and removed one of his earbuds. He gave her a once over and tried to bite away the smirk of an adolescent in the presence of a hot older chick. Kyra was almost flattered. "Wassup?" he said.

She shrugged. "Not much. You just look like you need company."

"Why? Cuz I'm the only black kid my age in the room?"

"Yup. And I know exactly how that feels," she stuck out her hand. "I'm Kyra."

He shook her hand told her that his name was Brandon. In a few minutes, she found out that Brandon was fourteen and in the hospital healing from appendicitis. He lived with his father, who was at work at a factory in Lodi instead of visiting him in the hosptial because he couldn't get the day off.

"So what are you listening to?" Kyra asked, pointing at his iPod.

"Drake. You heard of him?"

_Who hasn't heard of Drake? How old does this kid think I am? _"Uh yeah. I've heard of him. I'm more of a Pac and Jay-Z fan though."

"Ohhh. Old head music. My dad listens to old 2Pac and Jay-Z." He pointed at her wrist. "What's your tat say?"

She ran her fingertips over her ink. "Miss Rhonda's. It's my mom's name. She passed away some years ago."

He frowned. "I'm sorry. That's a nice tat though, well for a girl. I like the bird on your friend's arm." He laid his notepad on the table and revealed a drawing of Lyla's Crow ink. Kyra did a double take. It was a perfect replica.

"Wow," she said, inspecting the drawing, "You're talented."

"Thanks. I wanna draw tattoos one day. But my dad wants me to be an architect."

Kyra's eyes were still glued to the notepad. She suddenly had an idea. "Want some practice? There's twenty bucks in it for you."

**_Juice_**

Tired wasn't the word. Every bone in Juice's body screamed at him the entire ride from Vegas to Charming. Under normal circumstances, Vegas to Charming was pretty easy, but after two days of scuffles and brawls, he was in no shape to endure the trip comfortably. The pain was worth it, though. Bishop's killer and the assholes who put out the hit were dead and buried and every Son had walked away from the battle in one piece. And he'd still get to spend at least _some_ of Christmas Day with his lady. It wasn't happily ever after. They still had to go back after the holiday to lay Bishop to rest, but in his life, he took wins wherever he could find them.

Getting home to Kyra was the only thing that kept him from pulling over at a motel en route and taking a much-needed nap. Christmas hadn't meant much to him since he patched, but he knew what it meant to Kyra that they celebrate their first Christmas together. Breaking the news about Bishop and the trip was some of the hardest shit he'd ever had to say to her, but she took it well. Much better than he expected. She didn't call or text once while he was away, and even though he missed her, he was happy she hadn't. He hated the thought of her at home worried about him, and that she knew to wait it out until she heard from him showed how much she trusted him. She'd come a long way from her first time seeing him off on a run.

He wondered, though, what the hell that baby business on the phone was about. He was sure his heart stopped when she asked if he wanted kids any time soon. Shit. He didn't know. And if she wasn't pregnant, was she asking because she w_anted_ to be? He wasn't really ready for it, but if she was, he could get ready. Buy a house and shit. She'd have to get over her money issues though because no way would he let them struggle with a baby.

The baby thoughts were a good distraction because he barely felt the last half-hour of his trip. Before he knew it, they were pulling up to the clubhouse. He'd never been more happy to see the slate grey building in his entire twenty-eight years of life, but that joy didn't begin to compare to what he felt when he saw Kyra leaning against her Mustang, arms folded and face beaming at him. He was cryptic when he'd asked her to meet him at TM so they could ride home together, but her gift had been stashed in his dorm room all week so he had to stop there first.

She looked gorgeous in that effortless way that made her look like royalty even in jeans and a sweater. By the way her hair hung smooth and bouncy around her shoulder blades, he could tell that she'd washed and straightened it since he'd left. There was a navy blue gift bag in her hand and he assumed his Christmas gift was in there. He planned to do the gift exchange back at the apartment, but she waited long enough. They could do it at the clubhouse. She frowned as she approached him and he remembered that his face was a little scraped up from the trip. Nothing major, but enough for him to look battle-worn. "Hey," he said.

Kyra didn't speak at first. Just wrapped her arms around his neck and planted sweet little "hello" pecks on his lips. "Welcome home."

Against his body's wishes, he picked her up for a bear hug and she giggled when her feet left the ground. He kept his arm around her shoulder as they walked to toward the clubhouse. "So you wanna tell me what all that kids talk was about?"

She shook her head. "Nothing really. I was just at the hospital, surrounded by kids and realized we haven't talked about that. But trust me, if you're in no rush neither am I. Are you?"

_Thank God. _If she was ready, he would have done what needed to be done, nonetheless he was relieved that she wasn't. "Not at all." She exhaled next to him and he smiled, happy that they were on the same page.

Juice was nervous as hell about her gift. He'd recruited Neeta to help him pick it out and she was sure that Kyra would like it, but he needed to see her reaction to know for sure. She was seated on his bed, propped up on her elbows with her long, shapely legs crossed at the ankles on the floor. "I can't take full credit for this," he said, reaching into his nightstand drawer for the rectagular jewelry box. "I had some help from your aunt because I didn't wanna screw this up."

"Babe, it's not that deep. I'm sure I'll love whatever it is."

He blew out a big, dramatic breath and sat down next to her. "Merry Christmas," he said, placing the box in her lap.

There was no wrapping, just a red ribbon that she untied easily. Juice held his breath as she removed the top and picked up the sterling silver charm bracelet. "Jewelry? Niiiiiiice."

He wrapped an arm around her waist. "The bracelet was Neeta's idea, but I picked out the charms. See, there's a comb for your mom. The boom box is for music, because I know you love it so much." He pointed to a little square-shaped charm. "I know it's hard to tell, but this one is a calculator because you're gonna kick that CPA exam's ass and be a great accountant. And this...is a Harley. For me."

She held the bracelet up in the light and bit her bottom lip. "I love this Juan. Really. It's beautiful. Thank you."

He felt his face heat up. What the fuck? Was he blushing? _Jesus Christ, I'm whipped._ But he couldn't help it. Her happiness had that kind of effect on him. "You're welcome."

"Okay, I got you _two _gifts-"

_Two? _"Show off."

"Well now I'm glad I did. The first gift alone would have sucked compared to yours. So here," she gave him the gift bag. He looked down at its contents and could tell immediately by the size and shape of the three individually wrapped boxes that they were video games. He unwrapped them one by one: the newest Call of Duty, L.A. Noire, and Mortal Kombat vs. DC Universe. He never thought she paid him any attention when he talked about video games. "Holy shit! How'd you know to get these?"

Kyra brushed pretend dirt off her shoulders. "I'm awesome. I know. So you like 'em?"

He was impressed. Why would she think these gifts would suck? And in that case, what was the second gift? "Love 'em. Thanks babe. So what's next? Lay it on me."

"Okay," she pulled a small, flat, square jewelry box out of her purse. "This has been a long time coming, but I didn't want to do it until I was sure."

Juice raised a brow. Jewelry? He lifted the lid and found a folded up piece of paper._What's this? _It was a drawing of the traditional SAMCRO Old Lady ink, with a slight twist: the crow was perched on a lightning bolt, identical to the ones etched on the sides of his head. A lump developed in his throat and he had to clear it before he could speak. "Wait. So this means-"

She nodded. "I wanted to make sure that when I got it, it wouldn't just be some thing I did to prove that I 'belong' to you. I know how much the club means to you and I couldn't live with myself wearing this symbol unless it meant something to me, too," she paused. "I've been on my own for a long time now, and even before I lost my mother, I never understood what it meant to _really_ have a family, you know? When you were away, it hit me that I now have this group of people in my life, more than just my mom or Neeta, who have my back. And I don't...I don't know that I really understood any of that; love, and loyalty, and family, until you and the club entered my life. Loving you taught me what _real_ loyalty and commitment mean and no matter _what_ happens, I'll carry that with me forever. _That's_ why I'd be honored to wear this ink."

Juice was speechless. The crow alone would have been enough for him, but the explanation floored him. It was nothing for women to want to be branded SAMCRO. Club chicks begged for it. It was their validation in The Life as someone who mattered. He'd always seen Kyra as a powerful woman, and he loved her for it, even in the moments when her strength drove him up the fucking wall. To hear her say that he, the goofball, the screw-up, had given her a valuable life lesson that she wanted to wear for the rest of her life made his heart swell. So much so that he was sure it was about to bust out of his chest. "Wow."

"Now I know you probably want to pick out where it goes, but I'm telling you right now that I'm not getting a tramp stamp or a titty tat."

He was still struggling to find his words when he let out a chuckle. "Agreed." He didn't care where she put it, as long as it didn't require Happy to see any parts of her body that were for his eyes only. "I know you're picky about placement because of work and everything, so why don't you pick."

Kyra smiled. "Good, because I was thinking that it'd it look good right here." She turned her back to him and pointed to an area just below her right shoulder. "I'll have to give up wearing tanks and camisoles to work but I think that's a good spot. What do you think?"

He didn't have to see his reflection to know that he was cheesing like a five year old. "I think it's perfect."

They didn't make it home that night. He'd sworn all the way back from Vegas that his body was too tired to do anything but sleep, but he proved himself wrong, going a couple of rounds after the gift exchange to show her his appreciation. They lay on the bed in his dorm room, tangled in his paper thin sheets and felt blanket, watching an "A Christmas Story" marathon on TBS. Kyra was flat on her stomach, naked, save for the charm bracelet on wrist as her arm dangled lazily off the bed. Her hair, that had been meticulously straightened just hours ago, was now curling up at the ends with dampness from their sweat. Juice almost felt bad for her. She'd never keep her hair neat and perfect as long as he was around. He circled the spot that would soon bear her ink with his index finger. _And I plan to be around for a long time._


	22. Chapter 22

_**A/N: I originally didn't plan to dedicate a chapter to Kyra getting inked, but after seeing a few of you anticipate this scene in your reviews, I decided to throw in an extra chapter. Can't believe this fic is coming to a close (*tear). These characters have become such a huge part of my mental space that sometimes when I rewatch SOA, I find myself watching through Kyra's eyes. (That's normal for a writer, though, right?)**_

_**After this, there's one more chapter and an epilogue. I'm aiming to finish by next week. In the meantime, I've posted a short one shot, "Grammar Lesson," which details an incident from Kyra's childhood that was mentioned in this fic and in "Taboo." Feel free to check that out as well. **_

_**As always, Enjoy. Share. Review. **_

_**Thanks! - SBG**_

_**Kyra **_

Four shots of Patron and a little conversation were enough to get her through the application of her first tattoo. Kyra had no such luck with her crow. It was larger, more intricate, and thus more painful. Instead of numbing her senses to make her more comfortable, the alcohol removed the filter from her thoughts and expressions. Juice, who sat dutifully in front of her beaming with pride, became the source of her aggravation. _This big-eared goofy bastard is lucky I love him_, she thought, gritting her teeth as Happy's needle pierced a sensitive spot. Unlike her wrist, her back was full of sensitive spots and every prick felt like an assault on her nerve endings. _What kind of delusional shit was I on, thinking this would be cute and romantic?_ Maybe the finished product would be sweet, but the process of getting the damn thing on? _This is some bullshit._

Thanks to Juice, her torture was a full-blown spectacle. The club wasn't having an official New Year's Eve party, but a few people gathered at the clubhouse had turned into an impromptu get-together. Of course, Juice just _had_ to announce to everyone in attendance that she was getting crowed. Now she had an audience consisting of Jax, Tara, Opie, Lyla, and the occasional onlooker who stopped to check out Happy's handiwork. To his credit, Happy was surprisingly gentle with his needle. Kyra assumed it was the only sharp object he handled with such delicate care.

"Looks good so far," Lyla reported to her. "And I love the lightning bolt."

That remark made Kyra smile a little. She knew early on that when she got her ink, she wanted to personalize it for Juice. The lightning bolt was perfect because those in the know, knew what it meant, but she didn't have to walk around feeling like branded property. _Gotdammit_. Happy hit another sore spot, and she winced, gripping Juice's knee in front of her. She could've sworn she saw the hint of a smirk in his eyes when he asked if she was okay. As if her cringing in pain was somehow funny to him. _Let's see how funny it is when you don't get no ass tonight. _"Do I _look_ like I'm okay?" she snapped. She did that a lot with Juice lately; spoke her first thought rather than run them through the quick evaluation she used to. Snapping at him in the clubhouse? She blamed that on the Patron.

Jax laughed. "Shit, bro. You're supposed to get laid after your lady gets a crow. Don't end up on the couch tonight."

The couch? If Juice kept this up, he'd be lucky to get back into the apartment later. She stared daggers at him and he leaned toward her, his lips grazing her ear lobe as he whispered "Since when can't you take a little pain for me?" and squeezed her thigh. Heat flushed her face and he settled back into his seat, sporting what appeared to be his usual silly smile, but just behind his eyes was a spark of cockiness. The kind of cockiness that came with knowing a woman's body inside out. _Asshole. _The Sons may have thought he was an idiot, but when it came to knowing what buttons of hers to push and when, Juice had become brilliant.

She bit back the grin forcing its way onto her face. When "Fuck you, Juan," left her lips, she intended for it to be an insult but her blushing and turned up lips made it seem like a request. She really couldn't stand his little smug brown ass.

"See?" Juice said. "She just said she wants to fuck me."

Tara jumped in to her defense. "I don't think that's what she meant, Juice." She turned up her beer mug and inadvertently flashed her engagement ring. Jax had given her the quarter karat diamond Christmas night, upon his return from Vegas. Almost a week later, she still had the excited glow of a woman newly engaged to the love of her life. "If I recall, my crow hurt like hell too."

"As hammered as you were that night, I'm surprised you even _remember_ that," Opie added.

Jax gave his fiancee a knowing glance. "I think I made it pretty unforgettable."

Just as Kyra became distracted by all of the activity around her, Happy stabbed at her back, causing her to clamp her eyes shut and bite down hard on her lip. _"Shit!" _And then it stopped. Happy lifted the needle from her skin. "Done."

_**Juice **_

"Wow."

Juice's reaction to seeing the ink on Kyra's skin was the same as his reaction to her reasons for wanting it. He stood behind her, his head cocked to the side, inspecting Happy's work. He'd done a great job, adding details to the crow's form that were absent in the original drawing. Juice had been a little worried about how the lightning bolt would come out, since Hap hadn't done his tats, but he recreated it perfectly for Kyra. The size was just right; large enough to be prominent, but small enough that it still had that signature Kyra-esque femininity. He'd never seen a crow or a crow tat that he considered pretty, but something about the slope of her neck and the way she carried herself, shoulders always square and erect, made the bird look swan-like on her. He shook his head. Leave it to his girl to make something meant to be badass look graceful.

The others wanted to take a look, but he asked them to hold off a minute. Sure he'd invited them all to watch, but the moment suddenly felt private; sacred almost. It seemed unfair to let any of them see it before she did, so he picked up the hand held mirror laying on the table with Happy's tools and led her to the bathroom. She was already leaning on the sink holding up the mirror when he turned on the light. He kept his eyes on hers in the mirror above the sink, though it was hard to stop gazing at the crow, but he wanted to see the first flash of reaction on her face. There wasn't any "wow" or element of surprise in her eyes, just a careful, studious glare as she inspected the work, reaching back to trace the black lines with her fingertips. They were both silent, with the jingle of her charm bracelet serving as the only sound in the room. "So?" he asked. "What do you think?"

Kyra turned to him and nodded. "It's gonna take some getting used to, and it hurts like a bitch," she smiled. "but I love it. What about you?"

Juice wanted to show her what he thought of it. Wanted to turn her around on the sink and enter her from behind, planting soft kisses around the red, tender skin while he made her moan, but he stopped himself. Neither of them was going anywhere. There'd be time for that later. "It's perfect, babe," he said, smiling from ear to ear.

Kyra pulled him to her, wrapping her arms around his neck. "So you know this means you're stuck with me right? Cuz I swear I'll kill you if you fuck this up and I have to walk around with this tat for the rest of my life."

_Ha. Like I'd let you leave me. _"Good. Because the only way you're getting away from me is if you put a bullet in my head."

She rolled her eyes in mock disgust. "Wow. How romantic are we? Tattoos and death threats to show our love."

They could go back and forth forever, but Juice was done talking. At least for the moment. "Hey," he whispered, leaning down toward her mouth. "Hush." He circled his arms around her waist and closed his lips over hers. She reacted, arching into him and opening her mouth to invite him in for a deeper kiss. He was already a fan of Patron, but on her lips, it tasted even sweeter. On the other side of the door, he heard a chorus of counting and realized they were going to miss the New Year count. However, as her tongue probed his mouth, he couldn't think of a better way to spend the first minutes of 2012. A year ago, he'd been laying on his cot in Stockton, staring at the ceiling hoping to will himself to sleep before the new year started. Now, he was going into the next year of his life with the most killer combination of brains, beauty, strength, and sex appeal he'd ever met in his arms. And she was ready to ride it out with him until the wheels fell off.

"_Five-four-three-two-one...HAPPY NEW YEAR!" _


	23. Chapter 23

_**A/N: I'm borderline emotional about this, but here it is. The final chapter. Epilogue coming this weekend.  
**_

_**Juice **_

If Juice came home in the middle of the afternoon, he always checked the mail. Didn't matter that all of his mail still went to the clubhouse. It was just one of the small things he'd adopted as his "job," like taking out the trash and making sure Kyra kept up on her car maintenance. So that Saturday in mid-March, upon his return from a gun run in Rogue River, he checked Kyra's mailbox before walking up the single flight of stairs to the apartment.

When he opened the door, he wasn't surprised to find her pushing the vacuum around the living room, singing along to some guy crooning _"I don't wanna be loved, I don't wanna be loooooved. I just want a quickie..." _He always seemed to find her cleaning and listening to dirty rap or R&B songs when he came home from a run. A couple of weeks ago, it was Biggie's "Fuck You Tonight" blasting, which reminded him of their trip to Lodi and had him spreading her legs across the kitchen table before he could get out of his cut. He smiled at the thought. Things had been good since the start of the year, even better since she took her CPA exam in the middle of January. He knew better than to complain during the weeks leading up to the test, but the lack of sex and increase in take out meals while she did her final cramming tested his patience. Not as much as their post-argument angst, but enough that he spent many frustrated evenings on the couch with his Xbox 360 to keep from going to the clubhouse and doing something stupid. As happy as she was the evening she came home from taking the exam, he was happier. She'd been back to him full-time in the last two months. Good food and frequent fucking were really all he asked.

As usual, she had the music so loud that she didn't hear him come in. He shook his head. How many times did he have to tell her how unsafe that was? She wouldn't be happy until somebody broke into the apartment and...No. Juice didn't let himself think that way. Entertaining any scenario where he couldn't protect his woman was enough to drive him crazy. He'd seen that kind of thinking turn Jax inside out and that drama would _not_ be repeated with him and Kyra. He didn't _fear_ her exactly, but the less of her temper he had to deal with, the better. He sat the mail down on the kitchen table and watched her for a moment. Dressed in a baggy grey sweat pants and a white tank top that proudly displayed her crow, with her hair in a high, messy bun, she wound her hips seductively while she sang _"Send me ya wish list. I'll have you addicted. Mami come hit this..."_ Her crow ink was three months old, but he still got a little excited every time he saw it. Kyra would slap him if she knew how often he thought of it as confirmation that her body was his personal playground. His head knew better than to think of her as his property, but relaying that message to his dick was easier said than done. Speaking of his dick, Kyra's dance moves looked dangerously similar to her riding technique. Watching her move, he sometimes wondered if there was a stint as an exotic dancer that he missed in her background check. "We should get a pole," he said when he was within earshot.

He expected her to be startled, but she just powered off the vacuum and turned to face him with a hand on her hip. "You wish," she said, a smile forming at the corners of her mouth.

Juice pulled her into an embrace. "And by that you mean, 'Hey babe. I missed you. Welcome home,' right?"

"Of course." She planted a kiss on his chin. "How was Rogue River?"

He let his hands slide down to her ass and buried his face in her neck, taking in a healthy whiff of her cocoa butter lotion. "Mmmm. Uneventful."

She wiggled out of his embrace. "Down boy. This apartment ain't gonna clean itself. Did you check the mail?"

_I hope she knows I'm jumping her bones as soon as she wipes off the last spec of dust in here. _"Yeah," Juice walked over to the table and flipped through the envelopes. "Cable bill, light bill, California Board of Accountancy." Her head jerked up and he realized what the last envelope was. "These your test results?"

With wide eyes, she nodded slowly. He moved to give her the envelope but she stopped him. "Open it."

Juice obliged and had to blink a few times as he read the paper. He considered himself pretty "book" smart, but accounting language was foreign to him. The scores seemed to be broken up into four sections, each with acronyms that he didn't understand. He decided to cut to the chase. "What's the passing minimum?"

"Seventy-five."

He looked back down at the sheet of paper. Of the four scores, none of them was lower than 86. A wide grin spread across his face. "Holy shit. You nailed it, babe."

Her face lit up. "Get the fuck out of here..."

"Yup. Eighty-seven, ninety-two, ninety-four, eighty-nine."

Kyra snatched the paper from his hands and poured over its contents. Next thing he knew, she was screaming and jumping around the apartment like a mad woman. As if she didn't think, as smart as she was, that she would pass the test. He'd known all along she would ace it, still he couldn't help but feel some of her excitement as she waved the results in front of the framed picture of her mother and screamed "I did it, Ma!" While he loved the reserved, always chill woman he met the previous summer, he loved _this_ Kyra, the one felt comfortable enough with him to show her full range of emotions, even more. He'd learned over the last few months that he couldn't always expect her to be his "perfect old lady" and moments like these, where her guard was totally let down, reminded him that he didn't want her to be perfect. Real beat perfect any day of the week. "Hey," he called to her. "Get your smart ass over here, Ms. Certified Public Accountant." She bounced over to him and he swept her up in his arms. "Congrats, babe."

"Can you say that again?" she cooed.

"Congrats?"

"No. The Certified Public Accountant part."

He chuckled and granted her wish; whispering the words into her neck while he planted soft kisses there. As he held her, he recalled a conversation he'd had with Jax the night Kyra got her crow:

_"Looks like we've both got a thing for smart chicks," Jax said. _

_Juice looked at Kyra across the room with a proud nod. "Yeah, I guess so." _

_"A lot more maintenance than club chicks. And they don't let you get away with _shit_." _

_"Ha. You're preaching to the choir, brother." _

_"But it's worth it, in the long run. They make you better. Help balance out all the crazy shit, you know? Hold on to that one." _

That was exactly what he planned to do.

_**Kyra **_

Kyra was at her desk, preparing Elliot's schedule for the week when he summoned her to his office. She thought nothing of it. Part of her daily work routine was sitting down with him first thing in the morning to review his schedule for the day and get feedback on any projects she worked on. In anticipation for her exams, he'd started having her look over some of the accounts payable and recievable paperwork to provide a second eye in case he missed anything before he signed off on it.

"I have a friend on the California Board of Accountancy," Elliot said as she sat down. "I heard you did very well on your CPAs. Congratulations, Kyra."

She smiled. "Thank you very much, sir."

"I know I told you we'd talk about your future here after you passed your exam and I'm a man of my word. You've done great work as my assistant and I'd like to see that translated into another area of the company that will challenge you a little more and let you utilize your skills. However, I do have some concerns."

_Concerns? Son of a bitch. This is about the club. _Kyra took a deep breath, making sure to keep her face even. "Concerns?"

Elliot leaned back in his chair. "Your connection to SAMCRO."

A knot formed in her stomach at the mention of the club. She did not need this shit now. Not after she'd worked so hard on that exam and in her work to prove herself to him. "Well what exactly concerns you, sir?" she asked in an even tone.

"Look, Kyra, I'm not the kind of boss who lets office gossip influence his decisions. I'm not going to hold your personal life against you. Like I said, you do great work. And you've shown a lot of promise with the accounts payable assignments I've given you. I just want to make sure that the club doesn't affect your work down the line."

Kyra nodded. "Well, if you're referring to my significant other, Elliot, I think I can safely say that I've yet to allow his life to affect my work thus far and we've been together for several months. I don't foresee his affiliations being an issue."

"The problem isn't in here with me, Kyra. I've had my own..._dealings_ with SAMCRO over the years, so I'm in no place to judge. But things in Charming are different now, and out there?" he pointed to his door. "Out there, you're gonna meet some serious opposition from people who aren't as understanding as I am. I just want to make sure you're prepared for that."

She wanted to shake her head. Obviously, her boss had no idea what she'd faced in her life. If there was anything she knew how to do, it was prove herself in the face of opposition. "Thank you for the heads up, sir. I really appreciate it."

"Now. On to the good news. My comptroller over at Oswald Trucking is about to retire. His assistant, April Hobart, is next in line for the job, which leaves her position available. April's worked for the company for a few years and I think you two would be a good fit over there. Starting salary is fifty-thousand dollars. You interested?"

_Fifty-thousand dollars? _That was a $15,000 pay increase. "Wow. That sounds like a wonderful opportunity. I'm definitely interested."

"Good. I'll give April a call and set up a time for you to interview with her this week. It's really a formality, but I'd like her input on this decision since she's going to be running things over there."

Kyra exhaled. "Thank you, Elliot. I really appreciate everything. Your support, this opportunity. I won't disappoint you."

The drive home from work found Kyra deep in thought. The last time she'd accomplished something this big was her college graduation the previous year. She remembered how anti-climatic completing her coursework felt. She didn't have any friends in her class to celebrate commencement with, and Neeta had some emergency in Charming, no doubt SAMCRO related, that didn't allow her to come up to Sacramento for the ceremony. Of course her mother, the driving force behind her decision to go to college, had been in the dirt for five years. Instead of crossing the stage with the rest of the class of 2011, she scheduled her U-Haul and move to Charming on graduation day, hoping she'd be too busy to even pay the occasion any attention. But as she packed the last of her apartment, she was overcome by a sad emptiness. Here was this monumental moment in her life and she had no one to share it with.

As happy as she was about acing her CPA and securing her first accounting position, what made her happier that afternoon as she whipped her Mustang through the Charming streets, was that she had someone to share the occasion with. There'd be strong arms, a wide, boyish grin, and kisses of congratulations this time. She'd be able to look into a pair of warm brown eyes that beamed with pride for her. Kyra reached over her shoulder and touched her crow through the fabric of her shirt. She'd found exactly what she needed in the least likely of places, but after years of going at it alone, she was finally home.

Instead of turning down the street that led to her apartment, she decided to keep straight toward Teller-Morrow. She couldn't wait to share the news with her family.

_**The End**_


	24. Chapter 24

_**Epilogue **_

The sun was relentless. Nearly unbearable, even for a native Californian. Kyra took two steps out of her car and could already feel sweat trickling down her back, and she imagined that the thin cotton of her maxi dress would be soaked by the time she left the cemetery, but it didn't matter. She felt guilty enough about skipping her Mother's Day visit back in May to spend her birthday weekend with Juice in Santa Cruz. It would take more than 98 degree temperatures or the fact that they were moving the last of their things from her apartment to their new house to keep Kyra from celebrating her mother's birthday.

She stared at her mother's headstone for a moment, reading the engraved letters with reverence, as if she hadn't seen them a million times in the last six years. _Rhonda Clarice James, July 22 1960 - November 11, 2006. Loving Mother, Lifelong Ambassador of Beauty and Grace_. The second epithet had been Kyra's idea. Merely resting in peace wouldn't do for a woman as strong and elegant as Rhonda James. Kyra wanted her to rest in the same style that governed all forty-six years of her life.

"Hey Ma," she started, wiping a bead of sweat from her hairline. "I hope you're not too mad at me for missing Mother's Day a couple of months ago. As you know, a whole lot's changed since the last time I was here. Some of it, I know you'd like. Other parts, well, sometimes I swear I can hear you in my head asking me what the hell I'm doing. I want you to know there's not a day that goes by that I don't think about how different my life would be if you were still here. I know it's not all what you would have planned, but I'm happy.

"I passed my state accountants' exam back in March, so it's official. I am a certified public accountant in the state of California. Man, Ma, I don't think I've ever been happier than when I heard those test results. I wish you could have been here to see it. And I'm doing well at my new job. I know you cringe sometimes when you see me wear jeans to work, but I work at a trucking company. I promise it's allowed. And you'd be happy to know that I almost always wear pearls. Just like you told me a lady always should.

"And I bought a house. Yup, I am _officially_ a homeowner. I know it was hard on you doing everything by yourself back then, but Ma. The _headache_ I got from house hunting with a man made me wish some days that I _was_ doing it all by myself. You'd be proud though. I made sure to buy something I could afford by myself if the worse should happen. See? I may seem different in a lot of ways, but deep down I'm still the girl you raised me to be.

"I know you probably don't like Juan and I get it. He does bad things sometimes, and I don't make excuses for him. It's just the life he leads. But Ma, at the same time, he _loves _me. Like, really, _really_ loves me. He's a good man. Strong, hard-working, loyal. And I know it doesn't always seem like it, but he's _so _smart.

"And the club. I _know_ it looks crazy. I know you'd call it a gang. I know you think I'm nuts, down here getting tattoos and running with these crazy white folks. They're not _all_ bad. My best friend is a pediatric surgeon who I know you'd like if you met her.

"The thing is Ma, I've done everything you asked me to do. I got my degree, I became an accountant, I don't depend on _anybody_ to take care of me, and I'm a homeowner. I love you and everything you sacrificed to make me who I am, but I can't _be_ you. I gotta be me. I'm _happy_. Truly. And even if you don't agree with every piece of that puzzle, I hope the big picture makes you smile sometimes, because I smile everyday.

"Aunt Neeta sends her love. You know her asthma gets bad in this kinda heat, so she couldn't make it today. I know she talks to you everyday though. Oh, and we got you flowers. The calilillies are from me and Neeta, because we know they're your favorite. And the two roses are from Juan. He didn't want to intrude on our time today, and he's busy with moving, but he wanted to make sure he paid his respects.

"I gotta go now. God only knows what my house looks like with Juan and his brothers handling this move. But I miss you, Ma. And I love you. Happy Birthday. I'll make sure to pour a glass of White Zin for you tonight."

The sun was setting when Kyra returned to Charming. As she pulled up to the one-story flat that once belonged to Tara, she was surprised at the warm feeling that filled her body. This hadn't been her first choice at all and the process of selecting and buying a house had put a strain on her relationship with Juice for months. The beautiful neighborhood where Opie and Lyla lived didn't have any houses on the market, so that dream was quickly shot to hell. Her second choice was a townhouse in one of the newer developments, but Juice absolutely refused to sign a mortgage that would build on Hale's "New Charming" dream. He wanted one of the ranch style houses in Clay and Gemma's neighborhood, but she shot that down when she realized she couldn't afford those payments on her salary. He'd tried to persuade her, explaining that he wasn't going anywhere and if something happened to him the club would take care of her, but Kyra wouldn't have it. Sure, their promises to stay together sounded sweet, but at the end of the day, they weren't married. "I don't make financial decisions with my heart or my vagina," she'd said. She loved the hell out of him, but when it came to money, she was still Rhonda James's child.

They remained in a stalemate until Jax and Tara announced that they were unloading both of their houses and wanted to sell by late summer. Juice would have settled for either property, but Kyra knew for sure that she didn't want Jax's house. Sure, it looked nice on the inside, but it was a bit small and the exterior looked too trailer-parky for her taste. Tara's house didn't wow her on first, second, or third sight, but it was a hell of a deal and met their price range, so they signed the mortgage in early June; and Juice agreed to let her remodel as she saw fit, as long as he got dibs on the basement. New paint, carpeting, kitchen tiling and cabinets, as well as the refinished basement were all complete in time to move before the lease on her apartment ended on August 1st.

Kyra opened the door and found boxes littered across the living room, with nothing unpacked except for the 60 inch plasma that was proudly mounted on the wall and running Sportscenter. _Of course_, she thought, shaking her head as she navigated the mess. She'd have to get the Prospect and his little girl toy to the house sometime over the weekend to help sort through all of it. She certainly wasn't going to do it all by herself. And where the hell was Juice? His bike was parked in the driveway, so he had to be home. "Juice?"

He emerged from the bedroom with a white towel slung around his waist, his bare chest slick with water. It had been a year, but she never got tired of staring at his body, especially since he'd inked "Kyra" in large cursive letters on his left pec, right over his heart. "Hey babe. How was your drive?"

"It was fine," she pointed toward the living room. "I see you've been soooo productive while I was gone."

He smiled sheepishly. "My bad. It was so hot, I just set up the bed and some essentials for tonight. I've got the guys coming back in the morning to arrange the living room and shit though."

"And the TV was essential?"

He gave her a look that said "Uh. Duh," and she smiled. No matter how much he matured, Juice would always be just a tad goofy. "Since I didn't unpack the kitchen, I ordered some take out. There's pad thai and shrimp fried rice on the counter. I was waiting for you to get back before I ate. You know, do the whole first meal together in the new house thing."

"Good thinking," she said, holding up two bottles: a Budweiser for him and the White Zinfandel she'd promised to drink for her mother. "I brought the refreshments."

He followed her into the kitchen, where they sat side-by-side on the counter and dined on their first meal. They sat in silence for awhile, and Kyra knew it was a big deal for both of them. She'd dreamed of owning a home for years, and as comfortable as he'd been in her apartment, she knew that deep down, he wanted something that would belong to him, as well. It was why she'd agreed to purchase a house with him, despite the fact that they weren't married. She knew her man. Knew that they were in it for the long haul. The ring and the ceremony weren't too high on her priority list, especially since neither of them was gung-ho about children.

"Wait," Juice said, breaking the silence. "Today's your mother's birthday."

"Yeah...?"

He laughed. "You remember what happened a year ago today?"

She'd been so focused on the move and getting to Oakland that she didn't pay any attention. It was a year ago that he'd taken her to her mother's grave after her car broke down on the 4. It was the first time she'd ridden on the back of his bike. The first time they kissed. The start of their relationship. She wasn't the type to get caught up on anniversaries, but even she had to admit that moving into their new home a year to the date of their first kiss was a nice piece of symmetry. "Wow. It's really been a year."

"So I guess this is like our anniversary? Am I gonna have to buy you flowers and shit next year?"

Kyra leaned over, poking her fork into his carton and retrieving a piece of shrimp. "Nope. This shrimp here will do just fine."

He broke into a wide grin. "I knew there was a reason I love you so much."

"Love you too, babe." She poked around her carton of pad thai, unashamed of the giddy smile plastered on her face and hoped that somewhere, her mother was smiling too.

* * *

_**A/N: Excuse me now while I cry hysterically and wonder what I'm going to do with my life now that this fic is over. Lol.**_

_**Thanks to everyone who took time to read, share, or review this story. Even though I enjoyed writing "The Sweetest Taboo," I'm more attached to "Evolution." I didn't know exactly where I wanted it to go when I started. I just let the characters dictate the plot and it unfolded into an entertaining journey that excited me every time I sat down in front of my keyboard. The first story was about establishing Kyra as the "perfect old lady" for Juice and this story was about breaking both characters down and revealing them as real people, with flaws and hang ups. Those became my favorite parts to write (chapters 13 and 14 were my favs of both fics), because I liked seeing how this very controlled woman and this very laid back man drove each other to unreasonable extremes. **_

_**The Jax and Tara pieces were fun to write as well. I'm a HUGE Jax and Tara fan, so I wanted to portray them as happy and finding their rhythm after the chaos of season three. **_

_**Thanks again to everyone who came along for the Kyra and Juice ride. I greatly appreciate it. I do have another fic floating around in my head, involving Juice's pre-SAMCRO life that I'll start to sit down and really flesh out over the next few weeks. Also, I'm sure I'll be inspired to add Kyra into whatever plots Kurt Sutter cooks up for season four, so we'll see how that goes. **_

_**Glad you all enjoyed the story! **_

_**- SBG **_


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